Noted in Passing On Grafton Street Dublin, Ireland
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Previous post: Strange Daze: How it’s going so far. . .
Mailing Address for the Blue Planet
Your Say
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Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
in the universe.
Duty, Beauty, Liberty, Country, Honor, Family, Faith — Plus a few simple easy to follow rules for guys
The Vault
Take It Where You Find It
Men saw the stars at the edge of the sea
They thought great thoughts about liberty
Poets wrote down words that did fit
Writers wrote books
Thinkers thought about it
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
Many’s the road I have walked upon
Many’s the hour between dusk and dawn
Many’s the time
Many’s the mile
I see it all now
Through the eyes of a child
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
And close your eyes
Leave it all for a while
Leave the world
And your worries behind
You will build on whatever is real
And wake up each day
To a new waking dream
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Change, change come over
Change come over
Talkin’ about a change
Change, change
Change come over, now
Change, change, change come over
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
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Hey! all you knuckleheads standing around with your frickin’ SmartAssPhones! Stop taking pictures, and start throwing some cash this young lady’s way. ONE GODDAM OLD FART hit the tip jar, ya cheap bastards!
Those tits, tho
Blatantly, sorry Mike. Yuck. I could only take about 10 seconds of it and tapped out. Turn on some Metallica or Stan Getz instead.
Same here. That was terrible. And, she’s singing a doods song about another chick. I guess that’s stylish these daze.
Bonus points for the Getz reference.
And the dichotomy is not lost on yours truly.
Ireland is full of very talented, somewhat shy people. I’ve been sitting in a pub not far from Doolin and in the middle of a seisiún some gal stands up from a table and starts belting out a ballad in Gaelic with a voice that would make Dolores O’Riordan weep, if she still lived.
And then in another pub a pickup band launches into a dead-on version of The Belle of Belfast City and another girl gets up and leaps into a Riverdance- worthy reel with flying knees and stiff arms, with the whole crowd stomping in time with her. And then she sits down with her half-pint of Smithwick’s and the evening goes on.
Great comment and description,I could picture being there.
One night in Waterford, our cabbie who had been shuttling us about all day including several stops for a pint of that black beer, took us to his local pub for a bite and more black beer. Their pubs are wonderful and in the evening they’re filled with people from the neighborhood. Anyway, after some stew and a few pints, he stands up and in the most amazing baritone voice starts singing a song in what I can only assume was Gaelic. The pub which had had a nice level of noise went dead silent for a couple minutes while he was singing. The guy was right in front of me, it was hard to believe that beautiful singing was coming from him but it was and he got a huge round of applause when he stopped.
“Let’s go have us one’a them black beers”
-John Wayne as Sean Thornton in The Quiet Man
We were in a pub called Bradshaw’s, and there was a back room where some locals would sing and play and tell stories on Tuesdays. It was our last night. We sang, and told stories, and even sang them a song or two they didn’t know, but played along to. And then a tenor sings The Rose of Tralee to my wife. She told me later she was perfectly willing to die afterwards, because nothing could ever be better.
My Scottish Grandfather used to sing “The Rose o Tralee ” to my Grandmother… and she would always cry according to my Mom who taught me the song….. touching song.”
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, ’twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! ‘Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.”
Her name was Mary
Thank you, Laurie.
I love talent on display in youth. Also, buskers who punch above their class.
Nice. Thank you.
The photos of Honkler stickers on a wall near the rainbow police car somewhere in Irelandstan are the best.
Also comrade Bruce Springsteen is a pinko commie poser.
Honk, honk!
It’s the song and not the singer. Or in this case the songwriter. Sigh. It was always so. We’re looking here at an obscure street singer on the streets of Dublin mesmerizing an evening crowd with a few minutes of fine singing. We are not, I submit, running down the utterly depraved political opinions of Mr. Springsteen. I, for one, always separate the life and mind of a singer from his music. Especially when we are just listening to a beautiful girl in Ireland.
After all, at the end of the day, we have to admit that Springsteen not only has the talent of a singer he, sadly, also has the brains of a singer. Honk honk.
I think that Sherlock is great, but I wouldn’t necessarily call her “obscure”. She’s got 5.5 million subscribers to her YouTube channel where many of her videos can rack up 10’s of millions of views. She has a great talent, and I’m sure that she’s getting great help…agents, videographers, etc….to make her the success that she is. Here is one of my favorite videos….
https://youtu.be/6uecFirb4T4
Thanks for the link. I’ve got it playing on a tab right now.
Sherlock? Interesting, very talented. In the olden times I’d be rolling into Borders and browsing the CD racks for more of her work.
Did you know that the car companies don’t even put a player capable of playing CD’s in their cars? Haven’t for years. But they insist on installing a Sat-radio in every model.
My 91 S10 and 2001 Blazer both have AM-FM cassette players right from the factory.
I never use either. Too busy enjoying the scenary.
I agree that art is not the sum only of a man’s depravity, or limited at the line of his depravity. It is a more, and I want to say a cosmic more. I like BS music and I do despise the man. I love Picasso’s art, and yet look at that son of a bitch! Anarcho-Commie serial philanderer (to put it mildly).
If we have to go back in time and cancel every talented human for transgressions, we’ll have no culture or civilization remaining.
I once lived in an apartment in Vauvenarges France where, while sipping my morning coffee, I looked down across the town to the chateau where Picasso was buried. My wife at the time was painting in her studio apartment next to ours and the days were long, the wine fine, the food better, and I spent my days going to various sites around the town where Cezanne set up his easel to paint Mt. St. Victoire.
Beautifully told. What a wonderful memory to have.
E Street band (and the man?) coming to Tacoma in February. Starting price is $600/per
Pass. Pass at $10.00 since Clarence Clemons died.
I’ve mentioned before that I’m a now-retired airline pilot. When you’re an airline Captain, you’re given a rulebook and most of the time, the events that you face are clearly addressed in the rulebook and you and everyone else around you act according to the rules.
But every now and then, you run up on a circumstance where the rules need to be interpreted and those around you might come to you and ask how the Captain would like to have it handled.
So about 20 years ago there I was, somewhere in Florida and we were headed somewhere into the northeast. I was at the gate and the passengers were boarding for the flight. The gate agent came to me in the cockpit and told me that passenger, a First Class passenger, had a giant piece of carry-on luggage, something way too big to fit in our overhead bins and he was refusing to have it gate checked into the cargo bin. He was insisting that he had to travel with this piece of oversized luggage.
I thought that it was weird that the gate agent was asking me how to handle something that I thought was clear-cut: If the bag is too big for the overhead and the passenger is unwilling to check it as cargo, then he can find another way to his destination. I had an entire plane full of other passengers who managed to work within these rules and they expected me to hold to my schedule and I just didn’t have the time (or the inclination) to bend the rules for this one guy. So I told the gate agent that if this passenger wouldn’t ride without his oversized bag, then he wouldn’t ride.
You probably know where this is headed…I didn’t know it at the time, but the passenger turned out to be The Big Man, and his piece of oversized carry-on luggage turned out to be his saxophone case.
So, did you fly him and his horn the way he insisted or suggest he take the train?
I don’t get that song at all. The lyrics are pervy. As if they are being sung by a sex addict sociopathic loser. It’s a weird song then, and it’s weird for a teenage Irish gal to be singing in 2022.
I know there’s a bunch of folks out there who just are gaga about Dylan, and an equal number of their younger siblings who are gaga about Springsteen. Poets for their generation and all that. Both of them leave me completely unmoved and uninterested.
I told a young man who was into death metal, that if he really wanted to get frightened?/excited?/enchanted?, he should listen to the entire Mozart D-minor Requiem, a piece of music so powerful it killed the composer who wrote it. Music which retains all of its power to this day, and will survive the Great Forgetting. Soon no one will listen to Dylan or Springsteen or even understand the power they had expressing the gestalt of their generation, but Mozart and his ilk are Immortals.
I agree. I have this tendency to pay attention to lyrics and then to the manner in which the singer delivers them and then to the melody and its arrangement. Kind in that order, most of the time.
Springsteen’s early performances, when he first broke into the mainstream, were pretty high energy and a concert attending experience with an excited young woman singing along with Born to Run was a great way to spend an evening. However, I had a lot of acquaintances who bought in to the concept of “The Boss”, as they called him and for awhile, with them, everything was Bruce this or that. I never caught that buzz and his desperate and generally depressing working class angst music just tipped me to enjoy him, not at all, much beyond the initial experience.
Matter of fact, I thought it was pretty sad that the SOB couldn’t seem to write anything beyond what made me visualize New Jersey with all that it doesn’t offer. Anyway, when the working man’s poet began to open his yap and get political I elected to never listen to another song from his mouth.
The little lady in this vid is doing a fine job; searching for her muse and bringing happiness to a lot of bystanders and listeners. And PTG, if you perchance had a daughter this age who was busking and enjoying her life, would you then be focused on ‘those tits’?
No art, no talent. But would be nice and juicy for a romp in the sack.
“A romp in the sack?” Well, as to that. . .
Well that shucked . . . mostly because it’s a Springsteen tune. Plus, you’ll have to to sell a kidney to be able to afford tickets to his new shows.
As the first crop of U.S. concert dates for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band’s highly anticipated 2023 tour went on sale Wednesday, fans were met with exorbitant prices (some floor seats rose to more than $4,000) on Ticketmaster caused by the website’s “market priced” system, allowing ticket prices to fluctuate due to demand.
Amid ‘feverish demand’ (their term, not mine), many floor and lower-level seats were labeled on Ticketmaster as “Official Platinum” seats, which “enables market-based pricing (adjusting prices according to supply and demand) for live event tickets, similar to how airline tickets and hotel rooms are sold.” And yet . . . the tour will sell out because people are idiots. Have I said that before?
Well done to young Sherlock.
Some talent and bravery rewarded.
To the naysayers…
At least she isnt twerking…
Or working the dildo on OnlyFans for pay.
Harvest, Dark Side of the Moon, Days of Future Passed, along with Tunnel of Love, Led Zeppelin IV and most of the Bee Gee’s albums are fine listening to my ear. Not sure any of them will take their place in the annals of great music, though. Dare I mention Yanni?
I didn’t listen past the first line of this girl’s rendition of I’m On Fire – first, I don’t like watching a singer’s face contort with the emotion they are trying to convey and second, there were a couple of notes that didn’t sound right. Each to his/her own, though.
I prefer entertainers keep their opinions and politics to themselves, because once I know what they are and judge them to be idiots it kinda interferes with my enjoyment of their talents, even if I don’t want it to.
For those here with sincere concern about Allie Sherlock’s um, health, here she is just out of the shower.
https://youtube.com/shorts/dTKIW7VeTU4?feature=share
Oh that makes me feel a whole lot better. I was so worried!