Joup’s Friday Album: Lubos Fiser – “Valerie and Her Week of Wonders” OST

valerieostFor this week’s Friday Album, I’m veering off a little into leftfield, selecting the original score to the 1970 Czech film Valerie and Her Week of Wonders by composer Lubos Fiser.  I initially became aware of this wonderful album when it received its first proper release on Finders Keepers Records in 2007, a label whose entire output and catalog of discoveries and reissues I cannot recommend enough.  Upon first listen, I was completely in awe.

The Sunday Song Poem #10 ‘Peace and Love (Blind Man’s Penis)’ Ramsey Kearney

Ramsey Kearney

Ramsey Kearney

Not having posted last week I feel an obligation to do so today, and as such feel as though I’m phoning-this-in somewhat, so it’s only fitting as we enter double figures for The Sunday Song Poem that we acknowledge, celebrate, or otherwise just get-out-of-the-way what is perhaps be considered both the Daddy and red headed stepchild of the whole phenomenon.  I’ve had a strained relationship with Ramsey Kearney‘s ‘Peace and Love’ (aka ‘Blind Man’s Penis’), stemming mostly from the fact that I long believed this to be as precious an exhibit of insanity as was evident in the last instalment, only to be enlightened by ‘Off The Charts: The Song Poem Story’ as to the fact that this particular song’s lyrics were intentionally so gorked.

BOB LOG III, Ruby Lounge Manchester England, April 24th 2014

BOBLOGBANNER
“N. Senada’s (Bavarian Composer -1907-1993) “Theory of Obscurity” states that an artist can only produce pure art when the expectations and influences of the outside world are not taken into consideration.”

I shouldn’t have to be writing this because you should have been there yourself. Luckily for you, Bob is a natural phenomenon that, like some integral celestial body circles the Planet Earth every year, so you can ensure you don’t miss him next time. Though maybe it’s us that orbits him. Anyway until next year…

The Sunday Song Poem #9 ‘Feeling Beside Myself’ Buddy Raye

feelingbesidemyself

Despite the papal canonisation today (broadcast in 3D to select cinemas and News channels, anyone catch that, did they have that swinging, incense lantern flying out atcha?), I feel like I should eschew the subject since I kind of already did the Holy Song Poem last Sunday. Not only that, but try as I might I couldn’t find a Song Poem for a Pope, which I find hard to believe having encountered a fair few about Richard Nixon, Elvis, Christopher Columbus, and Sexploitation actors turned male midwives. So instead I decided to just go straight for the crazy, literally in today’s case.

The (Easter) Sunday Song Poem #8 ‘The Man Called Jesus’ By Unknown Artist

Jesus

The Sunday Song Poem has been absent for a little while, but I’m back.

“14 Later, he appeared to them as they were eating; he rebuked them for their lack of faith and their stubborn refusal to believe those who had seen him after he had risen.

15 He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the Song Poems to all creation. 16 Whoever believes will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.”

Kurt Cobain would have been 47 this Year

nirvanaI should have written this piece a week ago.

Somehow, it escaped my notice over the last 10 days that this April marked the 20-year anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death. And that shit was everywhere. Basically starting last fall with the 20-year anniversary of In Utero, through the nomination and induction of the band into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the performances last week with Kim Gordon, St. Vincent, Joan Jett, and Lorde, and culminating with the onslaught of internet article after internet article regarding Cobain’s legacy, I’m not sure how I missed it all. Evidently, I live in my own little bubble, oblivious to my surroundings and the outside world at large.

The Sunday Song Poem #8 ‘Midwifery’ (1975) Norris the Troubadour

birth“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!” …that’s what I’d be saying to you if you were here in England, and you had perpetuated your race by having heretofore squeezed a 6lb genetic portmanteau of yourself and whomever’s propagatory fluids had found their way up into your guts 9 month previously. It’s a miracle, a four-times-a-second miracle. But somewhere around the end of the Middle Ages, something went terribly wrong, as humans suddenly lost the ability to spawn as efficiently as they had since the inception of their species.

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