Word: organizers
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...larynx, protected by the Adam's apple, is an organ with three important functions. The valve-like flap at its top, the epiglottis, must close when anything is being swallowed, to keep food or drink from going into the larynx or down the windpipe. With the valve open, the larynx is part of the airway to the lungs. Within it are two folds, the vocal cords, which vibrate when air is exhaled. The vibration of the cords generates the basic sound that is modified by various mouth structures to produce speech...
...lyrics are complemented by an insistently rhythmic organ and Sonny Boy's incredible crying harmonica. The combination of the lyrics and the music creates sadness, loneliness, and despair--the Blues--and yet the sound of his slashing harp and insistent flowing rhythm section indicate that despite his blues Sonny boy can still swing and by singing and playing the Blues he is able to transcend his blues...
...that he put out some really beautiful hard Bluesy Rock, but unfortunately played too much acid garbage complemented by some rather frothy third-rate pseudo Dylanesque lyrics. And live, well, you've heard the stories. At the Monterey Pop Festival he turned his guitar into an all purpose sex organ alternately screwing it, eating it, and finally setting the thing on fire with lighter fluid to simulate an orgasm. Not the stuff of Blues musicians, I thought...
...they find themselves in an unnaturally in-hospitable culture. Our leaders are hostile, our people consumptive, our arts enslaved. President Nixon's musical tastes range from a memorable arrangement of America the Beautiful for forty oil drums, to the Inaugural performance of All We Like Sheep by that otiose organ of musical dyspepsia, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Television emerges briefly from its ashcan to air a splendid production of Midsummer Night's Dream and then proceeds to ruin the gesture by taking out a full-page newspaper advertisement the next day celebrating its wondrous beneficence. The Trustees of our orchestras...
...maedow. I remember them illuminated by the silvery-pink lights of the light show in the dark heat of the night crashing out their rapturous blend of music. Gary Brooker's expansively soulful singing, Robin Trower's eerie guitar, B. J. Wilson's deftly brilliant drumming, Fisher's streaking organ, and above it all the presence of Keith Reid who writes all the words, an enigmatic intricate personality, quite possible a troubled genius. Procul Harum are sobering and transcendental, allying glittering jewels of musicianship with their message of melancholia and self-doubt, one of the Sticking Greats...