Only in times like these, when the spirit of redemption fills up our hearts... may we become immortal.
Music is the essential link between nations, families and friends. Music is what has been keeping us from animality and demonization. Expressing the needs of the soul, music elevates us to the realms of Spirit. Sharing music, even just records, is a natural act of Unification.
This blog is fed with my all time favorites. The cream of the cream in my own recipe. Music from all ages and horizons that stirs my soul and lightens my life. I also share with U the most interesting topics for me, in words and pictures...Check out the pages below... for a change.
This blog is my way to share with U. So that U may njoy as much as I do. When U are done surfing/downloading and are having a gr8t time discovering the marvelous soundz, it is Ur turn to share: Return and post happy comments to complete the circle... and ensure that I will stay motivated up here!
As U may have noticed, I have been too busy the last month to post much music in here...unfortunately.
World events and my physical condition took the 1st stage... I see the month of August 2011 as one of the most profoundly mind altering periods of my existence. The amount of data I collected and the expansion of my understanding of the current depopulation agenda of the New World Order has struck me with a sense of urgency.
It is urgent to find peace and to accept...to SURRENDER to the higher knowledge and embrace the last hours of this epic dream of humanity.
Each one should know that the gift of Jah is eternal life. Love Jah and Live, hate Him and die.
A gr8t mix on John Holt's 'Stealing Riddim'...because Babylon is now stealing whatever U ever though was Urs!
This record is a masterpiece of tropicalia music. The Context: The tropicalia poet has been sent into exile in London by the forces of repression and artistic control in Brasil.
London, 1970: at the height of hippie culture. Surrounded by the sounds of 1960's British rock, the harsh noise of the English language, with the warmth of tropical Brasil and the soft Portuguese language only dreams and memories in a primitive, neolithic, rock-dominated nightmare of exile. He wakes up in the morning, singing an old Beatles song. It is a long way back to his homeland.
At home, in Brasil, the Poet is a star. In England he is a just a long-haired South American man with a guitar and a funny accent. He hears his voice among others... just a common man. His presence in London goes unnoticed. ... "You don't know me..." he says and "You won't see me." He feels anonymous and the feeling pervades these songs.
He has no idea when or if he will ever be allowed to return to his homeland. He might as well learn to play rock chords and sing in English. But it is awkward. He cannot take the hippies or the rock-&-rollers completely serious. He is an outsider to their ideas and life style. He mocks them: "You sing about waking up in the morning but your never up before noon!"
And he cannot escape his memory and his language. Bits of Portuguese surface up from his subconscious, even as he struggles to sing and write in this new, rhyme-less language. Verses in Portuguese force themselves into his English songs. The sound of cuicas and bossa nova chords intervene, even as he tries to play his guitar in the English style. But the sounds of Brasil, and the sounds of Portuguese words, come across as hallucinations, chunks of dream, trance-inducing (trance, a play on words on the title "transa", which is itself a word full of sexual, sensuous overtones).
The Poet goes into the streets of London. He walks down the street and hears a tropical sound: but it is just reggae, not the samba and bossa nova sound of his home land. He remembers a lesson from his days as a school boy, another poet 300 years his elder, Gregorio de Mattos, whose outrageous art earned him the nickname "Hell Mouth" and earned him an exile in Angola. "Triste Bahia" becomes a sort of seance, a dialogue of exiled poet to exiled poet, across the cosmos and the centuries, a communion of language and rhythms that evoke a homeland, Bahia, from which they have both been expelled.
So much for the context, now for the music. It is amazing how dreamy it is while maintaining a bare, minimalist production. No lush tracks recorded one on top of the next. Just a man, a microphone, an acoustic guitar, some background percussionists, and a bassist. If you close your eyes it almost sounds like you are in the sound studio with Caetano as he plays. And how he plays! Every one of these tracks is an amazing typically tropicalia journey to the limits of the accepted, conventional norms of mainstream music. Each starts off soft and conventional, and then builds, builds, repeats, repeats, until finally you are overwhelmed with the absolute force of the noise coming out of your speakers. And then silence. And typically a return to the beginning again."
I proudly introduce the majestic Transa , who's fame has crossed all frontiers and made Caetano Veloso an influential figure of his time.
There is always some part of myth associated to the actual facts when it comes to a figure such as Lee Scratch Perry.
His genius for giving birth to the reggae/dub genre is undeniable,
as much as his lack of scruples to exploit the talents of too many young artists
for his sole profit, acting as a shark in the business arena. Go figure.
Conjectures will remain among those who live in conjectures. Others will move on and delight on records such as Open The Gate . Truly one piece of pure gold in the pantheon of absolutely awesome Jamaican music.
a very brilliant record by american trumpeter Don Cherry and North Indian percussionist Latif Khan.
A raw, earthly, yet smooth and sweet Music Sangam(Convergence).
Found out a few days ago (!?) about the details of Peter Tosh's assassination, as He just returned to His Jamaican home after touring the US for the promotion of His last record, No Nuclear War... on a 9/11 symbolic date for major NWO crimes.
As it stands out today... Tosh was murdered for being too direct in His pledge
against war mongers and political powers... too provocative, let's say.
Extract...
Peter knew of the evils which prowled, laying hidden, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. He was a saint sent to save the world from the duppies and the vampires, whom the devil had sent to create mayhem and destruction. When Peter was once asked who the biggest vampire in Jamaica was, he replied,"Lucifer". Wielding more power than any of the mortals whom he had sent to spread badness, Lucifer was the one whom Tosh feared more than any. In one interview that he gave Peter forewarned that one must be careful of his friends because a friend is easiest to deceive, for you already have his trust. This statement was all too prophetic.
On September 11, 1987 Peter Tosh was murdered by three intruders. The leader was a man named Dennis 'Leppo' Lobban, a man whom Peter had befriended and tried to help find work after a long jail sentence. The three came in demanding money and when Tosh told them that he did not have any with him they simply shot him. Dennis Lebbo turned himself over to the authorities, and was tried and convicted in the shortest jury deliberation in Jamaican history, eleven minutes. As for the other two assailants, neither were found, although the rumor is that both were gunned down in the streets. Whether this was purely a robbery, or an assassination plot is yet to be determined. Many believe that there were ulterior motives to the killing, citing that nothing was taken from the house. Peter neither resisted, nor did he cause commotion. The government had been trying for years to eliminate Tosh, a feat which was finally accomplished at the hands of his friend. The vampires which had been haunting Peter throughout his life finally caught up with him. In one interview he gave the year that he died he had this to say: "Vampires don't come out and bite your neck anymore. They cause...something destructive to happen that blood will spill and those invisible vampires will get their meals (Boyle, Word, Sound and Power 4)."Peter Tosh was martyred at the age of 43.
"I'm on my way to happiness. Where I can find some peace and rest", Peter Tosh: No Sympathy
