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Archive for the ‘Music’ Category

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, La Vierge aux Anges, 1881

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, La Vierge aux Anges, 1881

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Some people didn’t like Utah Phillips.  But then, they didn’t like Pete Seeger either.

Utah died in 2008 after creating a lot of mischief in his storytelling and folksinging.  This song, about the plane that dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima 70 years ago today, needs to be heard more often.  Thanks to WERU radio for keeping the voice of Utah Phillips alive.

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My last post was an exercise in frustration—Nick Cave’s “Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow”—because that’s nearly what we had accumulatedDana Winner over a period of two months.  The snow is mostly gone now, and it’s time to get beyond that.

Belgian singer Dana Winner has recorded one the best versions ever of Sting’s “Fields of Gold” and although it’s a melancholy love song it does hold hope of summer.  And her voice is way better than Nick Cave’s.  Or Sting’s, for that matter.

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Just returned from the medical mission in the Dominican Republic.  More on that later when I sort out photos.  In the meantime see our Hancock County Medical Mission Facebook page or hcmm.homestead.com.nick cave

Thanks to Kat, from Keep the Coffee Coming, for this one:  Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, “Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow.”

The firewood pile is under there somewhere.  I have already found the truck.

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This will work if you’re a Gilbert & Sullivan fan, or if you’re familiar with theModern Major General song from The Pirates of Penzance, “I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General” (even if you don’t remember where it came from).

As for the biblical philology stuff, I used to hang around people who did this, so yeah, it’s funny if you’re into that stuff too. In fact, it’s hilarious.

Laugh. Or not. The back button is at the upper left.

By the way, the Gilbert & Sullivan Society of Maine will be doing Yeomen of the Guard this year at The Grand in Ellsworth, Feb 6, 7 & 8.

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Dylan turns 73 today. Bob Dylan - early - at mic

Here’s a recording of him at his first TV appearance, about age 22, singing the traditional ballad “Man of Constant Sorrow.” Notice in his early style the debt that Dylan owes to Woody Guthrie, who was born about the time the song may have been written (possibly by Dick Burnett, a fiddler from Kentucky), about a century ago.

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We seem to be hanging out in England today. See earlier Good Friday post.

I put up the lyrics to this song before, and threatened you with a video of N.T. Wright singing it. Then I forgot.

Tom Wright has appeared recently, as if he needed more attention, as the cover story of the current issue of Christianity Today.

Here is the Bishop of Durham himself singing, not Bob Dylan this time, but “Friday Morning” by Sydney Carter. It’s a touch of irony on the level of Pilate looking Jesus in the eye and asking, “What is truth?”

“Friday Morning” by Sydney Carter

It was on a Friday morning that they took me from the cell
and I saw they had a carpenter to crucify as well.
You can blame it on to Pilate; you can blame it on the Jews.
You can blame it on the Devil, but it’s God that I accuse.
“It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me,”
I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree.

You can blame it on to Adam; you can blame it on to Eve.
You can blame it on the apple, but that I can’t believe.
It was God that made the Devil, and the woman and the man.
And there wouldn’t be an apple if it wasn’t in the plan.
“It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me,”
I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree.

Now Barabbas was a killer, and they let Barabbas go.
But you are being crucified for nothing that I know.
And your God is up in Heaven and He doesn’t do a thing
With a million angels watching, and they never move a wing.
”It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me,”
I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree.

“To hell with Jehovah,” to the carpenter I said;
“I wish that a carpenter had made the world instead.
Goodbye and good luck to you; our ways will soon divide.
Remember me in heaven, the man you hung beside.
”It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me,”
I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree.

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