Led Zeppelin live in was an event unparalleled in musical history. They played longer and harder than any group ever had, totally changing the concept of rock concerts. They flailed around like dervishes, making so much sound that the air was heavy with metal. Twenty long minutes later, mighty Zeppelin returned to satiate their famished followers.
The long ride from Santa Barbara was one of those dream experiences that leave you glowing in the dark. From the moment Jimmy slid his small, velvet-clad ass across the seat of the limo, right next to mine, until the door was thrown open in front of Thee Experience, we cooed and giggled like doves in heat. He told me he had gotten my number the last time he was in town but was too nervous to use it until the last day, and he called and called but the line was constantly busy.
Tell me more. I climbed out of the warm, dark backseat womb, full of wet kisses and flaming glazed eyes, and found myself in the precarious position of sharing this splendid divinity with Catherin James, the most gorgeous rock courtesan alive. I was turned inside out, pulsating with creamy pink desire for this most coveted hunk of drool material, but I was too thin-skinned to take the chance of being scorned this soon.
No one had ever gushed over me, or given me all the lines before, and I could feel myself falling apart and turning into one of those gooey unrecognisable substances. He taunted me with those freaking peacocks that walked by his bedroom window, as if someday in the near future I might be able to lift my head from the pillow and see them for myself.
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Are you telling me the truth? The agony with Chris is over, now I feel so good, such a floaty feeling of anticipation, silly, silly silly. I sit here while my body fills up with little bubbles — each one full of soft, crazy, loud, gentle, screaming, lovely, odd, joyful things, bursting within me and spilling all over my heart.
This time tomorrow I shall be throbbing. What am I doing getting this carried away? Well, he came to my door with his roadie Clive, and swept me into his white limo, and took me to see the Everly Brothers at the Palamino. We got all caught up in those glorious harmonies. He put something in my hang, and it turned out to be a silver ring with twenty tiny little pieces of turquoise embedded in it, and I wondered if I was going steady with the best guitar player in the world.
He always messed with his black curls, poofing, and fluffing them around his flawless face; he wore emerald velvet and white chiffon, thin little socks, and the most perfect brooch on his lapel. All I can do is look at your face. We tried to sleep, but woke up every ten minutes and kissed. Every time he touched me he would moan and sigh and call to God.
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It was really frightening, he changed into another person, but all he did was chew me and slap me a little. We talked about our ages and he said that five years between couples is perfect. Everything he said drove me nuts. His beautiful grey eyes always there beside me, beneath me, above me. Everytime I feel doubtful which is constantly I look at this ring and all I can see is his perfect face. Then he sucked on my neck, and when I could feel the bruise being called up out of my bloodstream, he tossed me down on the bed and told me he would throw the whips away to show how much I meant to him.
After ripping into my antique-lace dress and making raging, blinding love to me, he wrapped the whips round and round his forearm and slid the leather coils into the plastic-flowered waste basket, where they remained until he left for Somewhere USA a week later. We talked about how much better it would have been had we met before all the pop-star-groupie business started and got in the way of a meaningful and honest relationship. When he picked me up late one night, I opened the door and our gaze locked for many entrancing moments before I collapsed in his arms at the sheer relief of seeing him.
He invited me into his private world, and I was hope hope hoping that the glass slipper would fit my size-seven foot. On his day off, we stayed in my bedroom, listening to the test pressing of Led Zeppelin II over and over again while he took reams of notes. We went to the Glass Farmhouse, where Jimmy got a long antique coat embroidered with a dragon and a silly velvet hat with a feather in it.
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I was holding his hand, and in my ultimate glory by his side. The roadies, even Robert and Bonzo began to tease us about how long our fling was lasting, how Jimmy never spent so much time with a girl on the road before. In fact, a good friend of mine, Michele Overman, was spending time with Robert, and she made a little inscription in my journal:. Now that my lovely Robert and I are together, I have a nice bit of information for you. He even said he would send for me somewhere so we could see each other before he goes home to Pangbourne.
We had a hilarious fight, screaming and kicking and carrying on, so much fun! He said that he always has such a fantastic time with me every minute, etc. I adore him so much. You can find our Community Guidelines in full here. Want to discuss real-world problems, be involved in the most engaging discussions and hear from the journalists? Try Independent Minds free for 1 month. Independent Minds Comments can be posted by members of our membership scheme, Independent Minds. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy.
Now a new crew has been assembled. Some seek the greatest hunt of all.
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Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. Luckily for her, that all comes in handy when she stumbles across Dex Foray, an eccentric producer for an upcoming webcast on ghost hunters.
The year is High school sophomores Abby and Gretchen have been best friends since fourth grade. But after an evening of skinny-dipping goes disastrously wrong, Gretchen begins to act…different. Welcome to Black Spring, the seemingly picturesque Hudson Valley town haunted by the Black Rock Witch, a seventeenth century woman whose eyes and mouth are sewn shut. Muzzled, she walks the streets and enters homes at will. Everybody knows that her eyes may never be opened or the consequences will be too terrible to bear.
The black, heart-shaped box that Coyne receives in the mail not only contains the suit of a dead man but also his vengeance-obsessed spirit. The ghost, it turns out, is the stepfather of a young groupie who committed suicide after the year-old Coyne callously used her up and threw her away. For more than a decade, Jeremy Robert Johnson has been bubbling under the surface of both literary and genre fiction. His short stories present a brilliantly dark and audaciously weird realm where cosmic nightmares collide with all-too-human characters and apocalypses of all shapes and sizes loom ominously.
He was born an outsider, like the rest of his family. Poor yet resilient, he lives in the shadows with his aunt Libby and uncle Darren, folk who stubbornly make their way in a society that does not understand or want them. They are mongrels, mixed blood, neither this nor that. The boy at the center of Mongrels must decide if he belongs on the road with his aunt and uncle, or if he fits with the people on the other side of the tracks.
John Persons is a private investigator with a distasteful job from an unlikely client. The man in question is abusive, abrasive, and abominable. Sarah Crowe left Atlanta—and the remnants of a tumultuous relationship—to live in an old house in rural Rhode Island. Steep-banked, fast-moving, it offers the promise of fine fishing, and of something more, a possibility too fantastic to be true. The nightmare is awakened when third-grade schoolteacher Lois Larkin takes the children on a field trip to Bedford.
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There in the abandoned woods, a small, cruel boy unearths an ancient horror—a contagious plague that transforms its victims into something violent, hungry. He knows what magic a suit can cast, the invisibility a guitar case can provide, and the curse written on his skin that attracts the eye of wealthy white folks and their cops. But when he delivers an occult tome to a reclusive sorceress in the heart of Queens, Tom opens a door to a deeper realm of magic, and earns the attention of things best left sleeping.
The body of a teenager is found, emptied of blood, the murder rumored to be part of a ritual killing. Twelve-year-old Oskar is personally hoping that revenge has come at long last—revenge for the bullying he endures at school, day after day. His cousin is from a backward rural village, and Albie expects she will be a simple country girl, but instead he is struck by her inner beauty and by her lovely singing voice, which is beautiful beyond all reckoning. When next he hears of her, many years later, it is to hear news of her death at the hands of her husband, the village shoemaker.
Thirty years ago, a blues musician called the Bone Man killed the devil at the crossroads, only to be beaten and hung like a scarecrow in a cornfield—or so the story goes. Its residents will see the real face of evil lurking behind the masks of ordinary people. They will feel it—in their hearts, in their bones, in their nightmares. Because evil never dies. It only grows stronger…. Something terrifying that must not be seen. One glimpse and a person is driven to deadly violence.
No one knows what it is or where it came from. Five years after it began, a handful of scattered survivors remain, including Malorie and her two young children. Living in an abandoned house near the river, she has dreamed of fleeing to a place where they might be safe. Now, that the boy and girl are four, it is time to go. Chip Taylor is making some of the most distinctive acoustic music around today. It is an album filled with timeless, intimate love songs - poignant, meditative odes to life.
And drinking in moderation songs. Their spirit is perhaps best captured by the videos Taylor has created for each and every song included on a dvd. Filmed at his own apartment and local bar, and starring his wife and friends, Chip welcomes everybody into his warm, heartfelt world. It also features master-guitarist John Platania Van Morrison. Click here to refresh the feed.
This week we take on the task of covering one of the most larger-than-life legends in music history, Mr. Jimi Hendrix. In part 1 we discuss his downtrodden childhood and explain how he managed to work his way up to success with non-stop practice and a few missteps along the way. So kick back with a can of Haze from Treehouse Brewing Company and open up your mind to the groovy jams of one of the most talented guitar players to walk the Earth. CrossVoodoo Child documentary on Netflix. John and Nomad share a similar path in the industry - both started as guitarists and have progressed into other areas of the music business.
Nomad was a member of Local in Nashville for 8 years prior to his move to LA where he's been a member of Local 47 since Shedding light on subjects that are both touchy and enlightening, this interview reveals why musicians should consider becoming AFM members. Especially if they're doing work "on the card", or "contract work", which simply means that it's a union gig.
Listeners who are interested in learning more about the union are encouraged to check out the local in their city and ask as many questions as possible. Nomad truly believes that the AFM is an organization designed to advocate for the working "Career Musician" regardless of the type of work their doing, or any preconceived notions or misconceptions they might have.
Bringing this untold story to life, directors Molly Bernstein and Philip Dolin introduce us to such larger-than-life personalities as kingpins Frank Barsalona and Bay Area legend Bill Graham. Colorful interviews with the promoters themselves and with the musicians whose careers would not have existed without them - including Carlos Santana, Jon Bon Jovi, and Bob Geldof - combine with a rich trove of archival material and a terrific selection of music from The Who, Simon and Garfunkel, David Bowie, and many more.
We're back at it this week to talk about a band whose music you know oh so well, but whose story is a little harder to get the deets on. Talking Heads started out as a trio of art students just trying to express their disdain for the status quo using sarcasm and metaphors.
Little did they know that was exactly what the times were calling for. As time progressed, they became a band who took chances that paid off and are now one of the best known new wave bands ever. Kick back with some Psycho Killer IPA from Finback Brewing as we tell the tale of this art collaborative that often gets looked at as a solo act and why that totally does not check.
The Rock n Roll Archaeologist enters the world of Hip Hop for the first time with pioneering producer and record executive, Chris Schwartz! How Ruffhouse Records founder Chris Schwartz overcame poverty, abuse, and addiction to start one of the most pivotal labels in hip-hop history and launch the careers of some of music's biggest stars As a struggling musician trying to catch a break in the '80s Philadelphia, Chris Schwartz navigated the crime-infested, morally bankrupt music industry to build one of the most successful hip-hop record labels in the world.
That label was Ruff-house, which launched the careers of Nas, The Fugees, Cypress Hill, and others, dominating the charts and generating global revenues of over one billion dollars.