WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Something Wonderful: The Starbugs – Mr Tambourine Man
byVanderleunonDecember 12, 2019
Turn up the speakers, dance around the room, improve your politics-blighted week. This is the first version I’ve heard that I like better than the original. Even though lots of folks have covered it, this one will blow your aging mind if you’ve a mind left to be blown. Especially when they really turn it on.
And… that’s it for me for today. I’m going out to get a life. You get one too.
FOREVER YOUNG: The Starbugs, clockwise from left, Jessie Hilell, Ben Anderson, Sarah Whitaker, Roisin Anderson, Rebecca Jenkins,
Her name is Jessie Hillel and she is Indian, from New Zealand.
In the above video she was about 8-10 and is about 17-18 now, and seems to be gaining some success.
Larry GeigerDecember 13, 2019, 4:59 AM
Well at least they can sing. Dylan can’t.
John VenletDecember 13, 2019, 5:06 AM
A pure melodic treat. Thank you.
Phil in EnglewoodDecember 13, 2019, 6:15 AM
The very best thing about Bob Dylan is that he wrote great songs to be sung by other people.
Kevin DicksonDecember 13, 2019, 6:56 AM
After weeks of being exposed to Greta’s self righteous indignation…..it was nice to see children enjoying their world…….childlike. Thanks…it made my day.
SkorpionDecember 13, 2019, 12:11 PM
You do realize that Dylan wrote this song about his *dealer*, don’cha?
CallmelennieDecember 13, 2019, 1:39 PM
What octave was little blondie, Rebecca Jenkins singing in — Childo Soprano? It was angelic; just the most beautiful thing I ever heard
mharkoDecember 13, 2019, 5:58 PM
naysayers, thanks for the obligatory buzzkill. Whose service you in? ‘His dealer, he can’t sing’ etc. Where do you get off? Are we there yet?
ghostsniperDecember 13, 2019, 6:14 PM
While there has been speculation that the song is about drugs, particularly with lines such as “take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship” and “the smoke rings of my mind”, Dylan has denied the song is about drugs. Though he was smoking marijuana at the time the song was written, Dylan was not introduced to LSD until a few months later.
In August 1964 the Beatles were sitting in their limo waiting for Brian to return when out of nowhere Bob Dylan jumped in and fired up a doob. They all gawked with dinner plate orbs at Dylan as he pulled a huge draw then bent over holding his nose and heaving to keep from coughing. He leaned back in the seat and blew out a pacific cloud across the ceiling and handed it to George who eagerly took it while giggling. Dylan said, “The problem with you guys is that you just don’t smoke enough dope.”
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
– – WH Auden
from “1054 AD”
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can’t be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise,
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march:
“Where to? what next?”
— Carl Sandberg
Camouflage
Sourdough Mountain Lookout
Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.
I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.
BY GARY SNYDER
Chimes of Freedom
Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”
Byzantium
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
– – W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939
De Breanski
VAN GOGH
Hillegas
To the Stonecutters
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
from “1054 AD”
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
FOREVER YOUNG: The Starbugs, clockwise from left, Jessie Hilell, Ben Anderson, Sarah Whitaker, Roisin Anderson, Rebecca Jenkins,
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Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Comments on this entry are closed.
That was a total delight!!! Thank you.
Loud…Then louder. Wonderfulness added. Then louder again.
They sing now, not realizing what we’ve all left for them down the road.
Poor little fuckers…..
Talent in youth is one of my favorite things. Brings to mind The Byrds’ version.
By a happening of serendipity, the children led me to listen to Mozambique by Dylan.
Have great weekend!
I never knew that Dylan was a 8 year old girl singing.
What a treat.
The kids are our future, just like we were.
Things are going to be OK.
I’ve been waiting half a century for that. I am fulfilled.
I find the most wonderful things here, Gerard. Thank you!
Those vocals are incredible! They were having fun with it too, especially Jessie the lead singer whose voice is so rich and pure.
Definitely sending this to family and friends. Young kids in 2019 paying homage to classic rock songs from the mid-60s — and absolutely owning it!
What year is this from?
Here’s the lead singer singing Ave Maria for the “New Zealand’s Got Talent” show.
https://youtu.be/S7X5L4TqYcw
What a voice!
Her name is Jessie Hillel and she is Indian, from New Zealand.
In the above video she was about 8-10 and is about 17-18 now, and seems to be gaining some success.
Well at least they can sing. Dylan can’t.
A pure melodic treat. Thank you.
The very best thing about Bob Dylan is that he wrote great songs to be sung by other people.
After weeks of being exposed to Greta’s self righteous indignation…..it was nice to see children enjoying their world…….childlike. Thanks…it made my day.
You do realize that Dylan wrote this song about his *dealer*, don’cha?
What octave was little blondie, Rebecca Jenkins singing in — Childo Soprano? It was angelic; just the most beautiful thing I ever heard
naysayers, thanks for the obligatory buzzkill. Whose service you in? ‘His dealer, he can’t sing’ etc. Where do you get off? Are we there yet?
While there has been speculation that the song is about drugs, particularly with lines such as “take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship” and “the smoke rings of my mind”, Dylan has denied the song is about drugs. Though he was smoking marijuana at the time the song was written, Dylan was not introduced to LSD until a few months later.
In August 1964 the Beatles were sitting in their limo waiting for Brian to return when out of nowhere Bob Dylan jumped in and fired up a doob. They all gawked with dinner plate orbs at Dylan as he pulled a huge draw then bent over holding his nose and heaving to keep from coughing. He leaned back in the seat and blew out a pacific cloud across the ceiling and handed it to George who eagerly took it while giggling. Dylan said, “The problem with you guys is that you just don’t smoke enough dope.”
Unrestricted joy.
Thank you GVDL for posting.
Thank you so much, Gerard. Will be sharing this everywhere and just bought the album.
I hope Bob has seen this!