We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
I once booed Jewel at a performance. It was the year she toured with Bob Dylan, and I saw them in New Haven. (She once said that she thought Bob was gay because he didn't hit on her during the tour. Disappointed by that, it seems.)
I booed because she had to bring some political snark into her chatter, assuming as such folks do that their audiences are all on the same page politically. Rude of me, but that sort of presumption bugs me. As usual, my friends were embarassed by my behavior. She was not really known, then.
Here's the whole song that was chopped up on Dr Merc's fun post:
When I was putting together that post the other day, I considered including a clip of 'Foolish Games', just so people would know who Jewel was, and ended up sampling a number of them on YouTube. I decided it would just clutter up the post and dropped the idea.
I wouldn't worry about it, Dog. All that caterwauling tends to make me think less of somebody's bullshit political leaning.
Like if I changed my name to Starlight, took up predictably cliche acoustical geetar, affected my voice, and toured room after room of $150 a head, tone-deaf moppets between my many stints on late nite TV.
No, I wouldn't really be a musician. Even when my vocal stylings were mislabeled a nice grasp of vocal cadence and timing. I'd be a pop entertainer.
Next up at Maggies, a thorough analysis of the very perfection of Janet Jackson's classical vibrato as counterpoint to her positively Shakespearian lyricism. I keed, I keed.
You sure got that right. That's why all I could pull out of the bag to answer Garry was the nice off-cadence the lyrics have. When I did my post on her karaoke stint the other day and was talking about "nuance", one other "nuance" that Jewel has is that she ALWAYS hits a certain high note in this song a tad flat, then pulls her voice up the last little bit to make it right. She does it in the real version, the above version, and in the karaoke clip. So, you want to imitate Jewel? Make sure to nuance "bad singing" into the equation. :)
"Fabulous blog. Terrible musical taste."
"Terrible taste" is a self-cancelling term. By definition, alone, "taste" means "different". The second you use the phrase "terrible taste" in any context (music, food, books, movies, etc), everyone knows you don't approve. Everyone also thinks, "So what?"
Anyway, we're sorry to hear you think Bob Dylan is "terrible", since we only have SIX links on the sidebar devoted to him. As for the rest, how come all you have are complaints but no suggestions? Isn't that the operative question here?
I can sympathize with Jewel's opinion of Dylan for his not hitting on her. Jewel has all kinds of female goodness going for her. In fact I would be hard pressed (no pun intended) to avoid hitting on her were I in continuing proximity to her. But I would be restrained by several factors: I respect that she's married, I'm probably the 180º opposite of what she looks for in a male and her politics would have me grinding my teeth to nubs in no time 'tall.
But that said, those two songs on her first (?) disc are classic ("Who Will Save Your soul" and "You Were Meant For Me"). A rare case where the purchase of the disc is necessary due to two perfect songs.
She's political? Huh, I never knew. I just know she did a concert on the deck of one of our aircraft carriers with Garth Brooks. It was a cold night, and she did her best to warm it up. She's certainly no Natalie Maines.
As for the Bobster, I positively drive down 4th Street a couple of times a week, and I revisited Highway 61 on the way to Hibbing a couple of weeks ago. Hibbing's still trying to get little Bobby Zimmerman to come back and do a concert. He's still ignoring them, the same way he used to claim his parents were dead when they weren't.
Think of the careers (Seger, Springsteen) that happened because Bob paved the way for guys who can't actually sing!