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It's You or No One is a live album by American saxophonist Dexter Gordon recorded at the Jazzhus Montmartre in Copenhagen, Denmark in by Danmarks.
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- It's You or No One (SSAB- L2) | Kerry Marsh: Vocal Jazz and Beyond
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Fear of Life by Atheists. Delicate, plangent singer-songwriter material that feels like its petals could fall at any moment. Explore music. Purchasable with gift card. I wrote this as a tribute to a friend that had been murdered in San Francisco. I was going to perform a song at her wake and I wanted to write something just for her. I went for a walk up on Mt. Tamalpais and as I walked the lyrics just came one by one. I definitely felt her presence that day and that is what the song became about.
The people we love and care about are always with us, they never really leave our side. Tags acoustic americana lyrical melodic rock roots rock singer-songwriter Austin. I am singing the phone book. You are weeping like a tiny baby. Over pounding drums and a soaring melody, Heart sisters Nancy and Ann Wilson deliver a primal tribute to the one true romantic fantasy shared by every living being on Earth: picking up an unnervingly attractive man for one night of mind-blowing sex and then releasing him back into the wild to bone — but never quite as compellingly ever again.
Counting the days since. The relationship in "All I Wanna Do" seems too good to be true. And it is. Because it's not an equally loving ,or even equally lusty, pairing at all. Good at recognizing no-win situations and delicious with lemon?! For a while, things are humming along just fine, like any wholesome, illicit, anonymous affair should:.
Sure, many of us might hesitate to pick up a strange leather-jacket-clad man standing on the side of the road for a no-strings-attached screw, but our narrator just has a feeling about this guy, and sometimes, you gotta go with your gut. But then, without warning, the song starts to sound less like an all-time great romance and more like a story men's rights activists tell each other as they vape around a campfire:.
I'm not a poet. Symbolic language often eludes me. But unless "flower," "seed," "garden," and "tree," suddenly mean wildly different things in the context of human reproduction than they have since sex was first invented in the earlys, we're talking about a surprise, non-mutually-consensual pregnancy! Of course, metaphors are opaque, interpretations vary, etc. You might be tempted to think, "Maybe Heart meant something else by that. One: The narrator of the song is recently-deceased Jerry Orbach from this creepy New York City subway ad from nine years ago:. Photo by eyedonation.
Cool, so this all makes sense and is in no way the nightmarish scheme of a deranged sociopath who has now wrecked not one but two lives. The best you can say about that is that it's not technically illegal, and that leather-jacket man probably should have been responsible for his own birth control. Or, at the very least, asked more questions. It's not romantic even the Wilson sisters themselves agree. And at the end of the day, the shadiest character in this song is somehow not the rain-soaked hitchhiker wandering to nowhere in the night.
You know, that guy? That guy! As catchy as "Candy Shop" is, as fun it is to dance to, and as cathartic as it can be to scream in the middle of a crowded fraternity house at 2 a. The lyrics are The beat is kinda basic. The hook is like the music they play when Abu Nazir sidles scarily by in "Homeland. It doesn't get played much anymore. When it does resurface, it feels It's not a song you'd put on a mixtape for your crush. It's not a song you'd play for your spouse when the kids are at home with the babysitter and you've got nine hours to tear up the Piscataway Hampton Inn.
It's certainly not a song you'd include on the video photo montage you made for your grandparents' silver anniversary.
- Bobby Darin - It's You Or No One Lyrics | MetroLyrics.
- The Greek housedads sweetie.
- Ghosts of St. Augustine.
- "It's You Or No One" lyrics.
You wanna back that thing up or should I push up on it? The bass drum hits. The MIDI violins whine.pndnur89.ru/modules/block/wanumyzo/conocer-gente-gay-buenos-aires.php
It's You or No One (SSAB- L2) | Kerry Marsh: Vocal Jazz and Beyond
The singer starts filling out his fellatio permission slip. It's only been 20 seconds, and you're already getting ready to hang it up with "Candy Shop. But then Go, cunnilingus doves, go! Rather than simply imposing his desires on the person he's with — a la the dude in "God Only Knows "I'm going to invest my entire sense of self-worth in you!
But here's the key thing : the lady on the receiving end of those desires? She's clearly into it. And we know this because she says so. The lines of consent in "Candy Shop" are bright red, highlighted, and soldered into the weirdly sticky club floor. Meanwhile, Robin Thicke is outside trying to convince the bouncer that his uncle is a lawyer. No matter how nasty they freak, it will be intimate. It will be private. There will be no revenge porn the epilogue to " Blurred Lines ," to wit, would definitely be a protracted, emotionally devastating lawsuit.
Sexual compatibility is key to the survival of any relationship, whether years, weeks, or very possibly in the case of "Candy Shop" minutes long. She may have a high sex drive, but dude is graciously offering to accommodate her. What a gentleman! These crazy kids just might go the distance after all. And at the end of the day, what is a relationship but two nymphos, sharing health insurance?
Thanks, Obamacare! The "Candy Shop" guy is a keeper. Because he's not a hero or a stranger in the night or a funky, shimmering love god. He's a good partner. But when you strip away the swagger, the back beat, and the weird strings from "Best of Public Domain Middle Eastern Music ," by the end of the song, both people are satisfied. And at the end of the day, isn't that what a healthy relationship is all about?
Perry received his award for making movies that were, Perry feels, subconsciously about "wanting her [his mother] to know that she was worthy—wanting black women to know you're worthy, you're special, you're powerful, you're amazing. He spoke to the power of helping others while simultaneously carving out your own destiny. You're down on your knees pulling weeds, up on a ladder lopping off errant tree branches, and pushing a heavy lawnmower that never seems to start on the first try.
Unfortunately, because lawn work is so physically intense and not everyone can afford a gardner, the elderly and disabled sometimes have to let their lawns and backyards grow wild.
An alternative learning center in Dubuque, Iowa is helping its kids stay physically fit while helping out their community with a new program that gives them high school PE credit for doing yard work for the elderly and disabled. The Alternative Learning Center is for high school juniors and seniors who are at risk of dropping out of school. As part of the program, the teens visit homes of the elderly and disabled and help out by raking leaves, pulling weeds, cutting grass, and cleaning gutters. Teacher Tim Hitzler created the program because it helps the students get involved in the community while helping those who need it most.
They really like giving back to people and meeting the person. Nick Colsn, a year-old student at the learning center, told NPR that the program allows him to meet people he wouldn't have otherwise. The end-of-year program has been so successful, Hitzler hopes to expand it next year. You know, I mean, it just makes sense. It's so simple. And it works. If you're a white supremacist, I imagine drinking beer or any other alcoholic beverage is a nice way to relax and tune out the fact that you're a terrible person who's helping set human progress back at a rate the bubonic plague would be proud of.
But for some self-professed white supremacists, it wasn't quite so easy on a June weekend in Germany. According to Newsweek , the hundreds of neo-nazis who flocked to the "Shield and Sword Festival" in Ostritz found themselves uncomfortably dry when a court imposed a liquor ban at their gathering of hateful bigots who also like to listen to awful music together. The ban's aim was to prevent any violence that might erupt you know it would They even posted pictures on Twitter of the alcohol they'd removed from participants.
Residents of the town of Ostritz, who've had to deal with the bigots before they threw the same festival last year on Hitler's birthday , knew that the ban wouldn't stop the festival-goers from trying to obtain more alcohol while in town. So the townspeople got together a week before the festival and devised a plan which would truly make the white supremacists focus on how terrible neo-nazi music is: They bought up the entire town's beer supply. At the same time the festival was going on, residents also staged two counter-protests and put on a "Peace Festival" to drive home the point that bigotry wasn't welcome.
If the festival is held in the same town again next year, ticket-buyers should be aware that Ostritz isn't playing around when it says that white supremacists aren't welcome. There's some good news, too: Aside from the fact that residents aren't afraid to send the message that they're intolerant of intolerance, attendance to the far-right music festival has drastically decreased in the past year.
In , 1, people attended, according to the BBC. This year? Approximately Here's hoping the festival won't have a return engagement next year. My husband and I waved from across the street as the buses pulled away, our kids, along with a hundred or so others, behind tinted glass. We waved like we were excited. Our son was likely not looking. Our daughter may have been, but she also could have not been paying attention until the bus started into motion. We won't know for sure if she saw us waving until she returns.
It's so much the default that realizing it is actually stunning. We run our lives as though anything else other than what's in our head, our routine, our privilege, is what will take place. There's that little truism that a worrier shines like a pebble in the hand: you're more likely to die in a car crash than a plane crash.
More From Pancho Garat
Yet we are much more likely to be worried about flying because it is out of our routine. Being out of your routine awakens you to the precariousness we completely shut out in our day-to-day lives. What should be normal: sending your kids to sleep away camp. What feels wholly unnatural: sending your Jewish kids to a Jewish sleep away camp in the world we're living in now. I don't want you to know there are such things as Jewish sleep away camps.
Even having others know that they exist feels like a danger. I'm used to my feelings and my instincts seeming like hyperbole to others. I'm emotional. I'm tuned in. I'm hyperreactive.
I have a hair trigger. I have anxiety and depression.
I also come from a genetic and cultural history of people who ended up in this country because we were hunted and pursued and needed to escape. Over and over and over again. In "normal" suburban upper-class life, this can be a huge detriment. A handicap. It can manifest in the most unhelpful and frankly, startlingly blind ways. I've spent so much of my life reacting and feeling and then trying to understand what makes me tick. I've spent so much time learning to train and control and ignore and channel.
I wasn't made for easy times. I was made for survival. I was made, like an animal, to intuit danger and get the hell out, fast. I was made in the image of fight or flight. I do both better than most people. It's not something I brag about, because it doesn't feel like a good thing most of the time. I put my kids on a bus to Jewish sleep away camp.
Because when my husband and I got married I'm Jewish, he's not , our pact was this: if our children live in a world where historically they could be targeted and threatened because of their Jewishness regardless of their actual observance of religion or customs , they deserved to know that being a Jew is not negative. We should give them every opportunity to be proud and happy about their Jewishness.
Their belonging should help them to feel good about themselves and the world. It should help them seek connection and understanding of the human condition. They should know songs. They should sing full-throated. They should feel comfort in our traditions when they are useful to them, but never feel threatened or unnecessarily constrained by them. Research funded by Jewish institutions and communities suggests that the number one way to help ground kids in their Jewish identity is to send them to Jewish sleep away camp.
It's the glue. I put my kids on a bus to Jewish sleep away camp at a time when our government is putting migrant children into concentration camps. I bought all the supplies on the list. I washed and labeled and sorted and packed. I zipped up those bags to accompany my children. And then I dropped my children off and couldn't see if they were waving back as the buses drove away.
Of course, the camp I'm sending them to has a stellar reputation. Every day they post updates on a special web site, along with hundreds of pictures of the kids in action.
I send emails to the kids which are printed out and given to them. I send packages with stickers and trading cards and all sorts of goofiness so that they know they are loved. Migrants from central America have made their way to our border with just what they could carry.
My children's bags were so heavy that neither of them could carry them. Migrants are following the rules of asylum seeking. They are fleeing violence and intimidation and abuse far greater than I will allow myself to imagine. They are separated from their children by a government that has no business doing so. I, an upper-class white woman, expect my voice to be heard. I expect to be able to vote and call and hold my elected officials accountable. I know what to say to get my point across. I've given money to candidates and I know how to threaten that support in the future.
I also have the privilege of time and energy with which to do it. My underlying expectation is that there are very few problems that I don't have some redress for. Asylum-seekers, in good faith, and following the rules, have nothing left to lose. They are coming here seeking something less life-threatening than what they're fleeing. They're seeking some good will.
Or, at the very least, safety. Or relative safety. I put my children on a bus to Jewish sleep away camp knowing that in my daughter's cabin of 8 girls, there are 4 young adult counselors who are there to make sure that she's safe, happy, and her needs are being met. I also know that last year, an asshole white supremacist antisemite decided to go to a synagogue on shabbat , the Jewish sabbath, and turn it into a bloodbath.
Well before that ever happened, well before the era of mass shootings and Columbine, Jewish institutions like synagogues and preschools and JCCs have needed extra surveillance. We've had police guard our religious services and social gatherings. Even and perhaps especially seeking out Jewish belonging, Jewish joy, has always been a reckoning with danger and threat.
After I sent my children on that bus—the one I knew where it was going—the one where I'd shoveled their overpacked duffle bags into the bowels of the bus—I came home to a house strewn with the remnants from packing. Laundry bins with unneeded t-shirts and shorts and single socks. The cat—he normally comes to greet me when he hears the garage door open—was nowhere to be seen. I called for him. He still did not come.
I came upstairs and looked in my son's room. No cat. I looked in my daughter's room—with its orange and pink somewhat darkened by the rainy skies—and there he was, tucked into a furry circle in an eddy of her duvet. I laid down next to him and lost control. The control I never really had. Twitter this week has erupted in a jagged back-and-forth between politicians and pundits and opinion-havers about whether or not it is appropriate to call the migrant detention centers run by ICE and our government "concentration camps.
Non-Jews and, to be fair, some Jews as well , like to tiptoe around the Holocaust and any words or imagery which may in any way encroach upon the historical accuracy or singular legacy of that horrible period. To a degree, I might agree when the comparisons are used flippantly or improperly. In the same way I understood or had an inkling in my bones that the election might go a way I didn't want it to, I know this same thing: we are not ok.
This is not just the start. This is halfway down the road to the place where we lose not just perceived control, but real control. For all the current administration's lies and purposeful incapabilities, know this: the cruelty that comes out of the mouth of our president and those who continue to support him in the government and in the populace is not a lie. It is predictive. They're telling us in advance what they intend to do. And then they are doing it. In a world where I still have the ability to put my daughter and son on a bus with all their toiletries and know that they will likely arrive at their destination, I also know that our government argued for the legal right to deny soap and toothbrushes to migrant children.
When anyone's children are denied such basics—human basics—no one is safe. I know it will sound like hyperbole. I know that those who so easily dismissed my concerns early on—before this administration even took office—will still attempt to dismiss my warnings now. But do so at your own peril. I was not built for normal times. I was built for times like these. And I haven't been wrong yet. This post originally appeared on Outside Voice. You can read it here. Follow Us. Stories Worth Sharing. Explore more. For People Who Give a Damn. Planet Innovation Design Culture Cities.
What could be wrong with that? Here's why it's actually really, really unromantic: There's nothing wrong with loving someone. But there is such a thing as loving someone a skosh too much. If you should ever leave me Though life would still go on believe me The world could show nothing to me So what good would living do me? Look, I get it. Breakups suck. There's no getting around that. But good God. Which makes this line God only knows what I'd be without you Because the answer, apparently, is: "I'd be a corpse!
We had a good run. Photo via iStock. No wonder she took that job in Seattle. Here's why the song sounds romantic: Treasure, that is what you are Honey, you're my golden star You know you can make my wish come true If you let me treasure you If you let me treasure you Pass those lyrics to anyone on a used napkin at an eighth-grade make-out party and you'll likely get an instant toll pass on the highway to tongue-town ew.
And I'm OK with that. But, here's why "Treasure" isn't as romantic as it seems: Everything about "Treasure" is retro. Including its attitudes about gender. Things start to go south right from the very beginning: Give me your, give me your, give me your attention, baby I gotta tell you a little something about yourself Ah yes. Spoiler Alert: It's none of those. You're wonderful, flawless, ooh, you're a sexy lady But you walk around here like you wanna be someone else Oh. It's that she's sexy. Cool, bro. Very original.
And then later, of course, the narrator can't help himself: Pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty girl, you should be smiling A girl like you should never look so blue. An object. Which is fitting. I suppose it could be worse, though. At least she's not just any thing. Here's why it sounds romantic: Well, it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe Even you don't know by now And it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe It'll never do somehow When your rooster crows at the break of dawn Look out your window, and I'll be gone You're the reason I'm a-traveling on But don't think twice, it's all right.
Strummed on out of that friends-with-benefits situation like whoa. Here's why it's actually sooooo messed up: Relationships end. In "Don't Think Twice," that discussion basically boils down to: "It's your fault. You could have done better, but I don't mind Yes.
You do mind! You mind! You wrote a song about it, you passive-aggressive prick. You just kinda wasted my precious time Ah yes. No one's under 13, right? Oh yeah, and the song's narrator also point-blank refers woman he's leaving as: A child, I'm told That's right. Which, I suppose, may be the point. Here's why it sounds romantic: "Leaving on a Jet Plane" is a lovely song. Oh babe, I hate to go You see — he hates to go! Why indeed? Here's why it's actually not that romantic at all: All the plaintive guitar, loping bass line, and twangy, melancholy warbling in the world can only distract so much from the fact that the song's main character is well, kind of a jerkweed.
Then he demands: So kiss me and smile for me Tell me that you'll wait for me After all the betrayal and heartbreak, after basically revealing himself to be a grade-A sleaze who can't be trusted, he still has the gall to tell her to wait? And here's the kicker: When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring Ah yes. He'll put a ring on it. But yeah. This time he says he'll bring back a wedding ring. I hope she joins a polyamorous octad and never looks back. Specifically, it plays you the very first line.
Here's why it sound very romantic: When a man loves a woman Sure, you can write the lyrics down, but it doesn't even come close to capturing the heartache.
Sing it, Percy Sledge! It's an elemental lyric. It's a heart-shattering lyric. It's a lyric that demands you put your back into it. It's perfection. As long as you don't keep listening. Here's why the song is actually pretty horrifying: From the opening lines of "When a Man Loves a Woman," we know that, at least on occasion, a man loves a woman. Which raises the question: What happens when said man loves said woman? He'd give up all his comforts And sleep out in the rain If she said that's the way It ought to be.