Here is brand-spanking-new Fishbone video from Yesterday, January 23, 2007. Fishbone perform "Cheyenne Star Forever Moore" and "Behind Closed Doors," followed by an interview in French, with a little Dr. Madd Vibe poesy at the end.
The clip is 15 minutes, but well worth the watch, especially "Behind Closed Doors" which is a great song off their upcoming release. I'm not familiar with the first song, but it's pretty good too.
The eyewitness interviewed in the re-creation is an actor, one Leon Cohen, father of BillyBlog.
In April 1993, my friend Tino and I were driving to San Diego to celebrate Passover with my family. We both were marginally involved in the entertainment industry. Tino was an actor and an aspiring screenwriter. I similarly wanted to be a screenwriter but didn't progress very far. I did work several years in outer-ring independent television production. My IMDB resume is here, in case you're interested. I was involved with everything under "Miscellaneous Crew - Filmography". Everything else is another Bill Cohen, as much as I would have loved to have done special effects on Amadeus, visual effects on a show called "Play for Today," and the adapted screenplay for 1933's Private Jones.
Yet again, I digress. Tino and I were talking about films, and which ones we hadn't seen. We came up with a novel idea: gather our friends every week, Sunday night, we figured, and everyone can come over to a predesignated host's home. The host will bring a video for everyone to watch, preferably with the hope that very few people had seen the film in question, and with the result that we had further expanded the horizons of the guests.
We came up with a name "PCOC," pronounced "peacock," that stood for Pasadena Connoisseurs of the Cinema. Not too pretentious, but it was catchy, and since everyone we thought of inviting lived in Pasadena, it seemed like a great idea.
I volunteered for the first film and brought a film I had remembered seeing ten years earlier in Hawaii at the University of Hawaii, Manoa, Physical Science Auditorium, where most kids growing up in Hawaii in the early '80s were exposed to The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
That venue was where I first saw that cult classic, along with
The Decline of Western Civilization,
Led Zeppelin's The Song Remains the Same,
my first Russ Meyer's film, Up! (co-written by Roger Ebert),
the Black Sabbath-Blue Oyster Cult concert film
Black and Blue, and the inaugural PCOC film, Ralph Bakshi's Wizards.
Legend has it, that despite the reception to Wizards, we decided to keep going. The Ralph Bakshi film didn't translate well to April 18, 1993, the night that PCOC began. It appealed more to the early-80's teenager, I guess. Bakshi peaked in the Seventies. By 1993 he was past cool.
The amazing thing, however, is that PCOC still exists. Melanie and I may have moved away, but the beat goes on. The first group consisted of Me, Tino, Melanie, Chris, Colin, Tracy, Sharla, Larry, and Lanya. At least that was the first "rotation," before I showed my second film, On July 5, 1993, John Sayles' Brother from Another Planet.
Of that first wave of nine people, only Tino, Chris, Colin, and Tracy remain as core regulars. The rule was you had to attend three times before you could join the rotation. Over the years, PCOC was subsequently attended and hosted by Cristina, Tony (first film 9/19/93, currently a member and BillyBlog reader), Crissy, Jill (another member of BillyBlog Nation), Laurie, Kurt (first film 1/17/96, currently a member), Nathan, Nicki (first film 5/19/96, current), Rich, Karen, Cyndee (currently of Brooklyn, honorary member and BillyBlogMomInLaw), Michelle (first film 12/21/97, current member), Jason (first film 9/26/99, current member), Van (first film 10/24/99, current member), Alicia (first film 12/12/99, current member and BillyBlogSister), Sarah (first film 7/16/2000, current member), Brian (current member, first film 8/20/2000), Michael, (first film 12/10/2000, current member), Ruth (current member, first film 8/17/2003, and last "new" member), and honorary attendees, Leon and Donna and Seth, all Cohanim. I'll throw in my old chum Erin, who attended a few, and I would surely be remiss in not mentioning what I am sure are a speckling of others who have visited but not merged since I left Los Angeles in 1997. That's 32 names in all, with a core group of 15, many of whom are couples, with offspring, who, by sheer nature of their being children, limit the number of folk that actually sit and watch the movies.
I thought it would be cool to show the posters of every PCOC film, but listen here, you strangers to the concept. This entity still has a beating heart, as they approach their fourteenth year of congregation. A conservative estimate, according to the document known as "The List," (not of the NBC Heroes variety, mind you, shows that we (that is PCOC members, old, new, honorary, and in exile) screened our 575th film last November 5, 2006.
The number is higher, as they have shown films since then, and in fact, what this post originally started out being, I returned to Southern California last week (ye readers of regularity doth know) and a special Saturday session of PCOC was convened to allow me to see everyone (I missed Chris, Kurt and Ruth), and screen a movie, thirteen years, eight months, and twenty-six days after launching this venture with an under appreciated (hah) Bakshi film.
I brought and screened for a handful of PCOC faithful, Robert Towne's adaptation of John Fante's Ask the Dust.
This may seem familiar, at least in title, because Fante's novel is ranked #16 on BillyBlog's favorite books of all time.
To me, this was a quintessential PCOC film, in that it was crafted by a master filmmaker, Robert "I wrote a film called Chinatown" Towne, and I guessed a lot of people had not seen it in theaters (it grossed less than a million bucks).
However, it was still, in my opinion, a fine film. Roger Ebert wrote:
"Ask the Dust" requires an audience with a special love for film noir, with a feeling for the loneliness and misery of the writer, and with an understanding that any woman he meets will be beautiful. Such stories are never about understanding landladies. I am not sure the film achieves great things, but it achieves its smaller things perfectly.It was very true to the spirit of the novel, one that I was surprised could be converted to the big screen. The acting is superb and the film is shot beautifully. While writing this up, I learned it was shot in part, in Capetown, South Africa. It rang so true of Los Angeles, however, that I did not feel this foreign location intruding in the story.
A long, long time ago....
Well, it was March 2002, actually, one of the things we brought back with us from our trip to Hawai'i was a set of windchimes we bought in a store in Honokaa, on the Hamakua Coast of the island of Hawai'i.
These were awesome wind chimes. They weren't annoyingly-tinkly, or brazenly brassy, but they were mostly bamboo and the music they produced was a soft melodic tumbling of sound.
They appeared via YouTube on BillyBlog in the Fall, and I posted the same clip a few days ago. Scroll down to see and hear them in action.
These chimes were placed on our back balcony, outside of our youngest daughter's room. They stayed out there, rain or shine, snow or bluster. We'd occasionally pull them inside in the event of a Nor'easter or serious windstorm, but they were amazingly resilient and withstood some pretty harsh weather.
We have lived on the third floor of an attached three-family house which is adjacent to two other similar structures, for the past nine-plus years. The home to the right of us has had a much greater turnover, at least on the third floor, during that same period of time. The neighbors have usually been young men and women, but mostly women. Some have been friendly. Some have been indifferent. It helps, I think, when you have children. They tend to make neighbors more sociable.
Cut to 2006. There are new neighbors. I have not met them. On occasion, our neighbors through the years have appeared on the balcony adjacent to ours. Once many years ago, I locked myself out and the previous neighbors let me in their place so I can get to their balcony, climb over to ours (a railing is the only barrier), and come in through the sliding glass door into the kids room. The apartment looked just like ours, only with hardwood floors.
These new neighbors have never said anything about our wind chimes, nor did the previous ones, or the ones before that. Our chimes were pleasant. They came in peace.
One morning last Summer, I was leaving for work with the girls in tow, taking them to day camp. A distressed young woman was in front of next door, looking up at her apartment. She saw us and looked at me hopefully.
"Do you have a cell phone?" she asked. "I locked myself out and my boyfriend can't hear the buzzer."
I am a neighborly fellow, so I offered up my phone. She called and said something like "Joe, wake up, I'm outside. I'm locked out." Or something like that. Success! The boyfriend was awakened and she handed me her phone. She thanked me profusely. She said her name was Stephanie. I introduced myself, and the girls. The day progressed.
Maybe once or twice in the next few weeks we ran into Stephanie in the street. We exchanged greetings, and moved on.
Scroll ahead a few weeks, maybe a month or two. It was still Summer. We were shopping at Kohl's in Caesar's Bay, Brooklyn. It was a windy day. My cell phone rang.
"Hello?" I said, not recognizing the number. "Hi, Bill, this is Stephanie, your neighbor?"
"Uh, yeah?" I asked, not knowing why she was calling, or how she had my cell phone number.
"I had your number on my phone, from that day I got locked out," she said.
"Okay," I said, cautiously.
"Well, I was wondering if you could take your wind chimes down. It's very windy and I can't sleep."
It was windy. It was around 11:00 AM. I explained that I wasn't home, that I was shopping, and that I wouldn't be home for half an hour or so, maybe closer to an hour. "If you want," I offered, "You can just climb over and take them down. Just lay them on the ground."
"Oh, okay," she replied, "Thanks."
I thought it was weird, but I guess it was windy, and perhaps she was a light sleeper. I saved her number on my cell phone under "Stephanie Neighbor".
We got home an hour later. I went out to the balcony. The chimes were still hanging, clunking in the wind. I took them down. I replace them a day or so later.
Fast forward to this past Tuesday night. January 16Th, 2007. It was a breezy night. We had just gone to bed. I noticed something. I could hear the wind blowing outside, but I couldn't hear the chimes.
"Do you hear the chimes?" I asked Melanie
She paused and listened, "I think so. Hmmm. Maybe not."
I got up and looked out the window into the darkness. I didn't see them. I grabbed a flashlight, went into Shayna's room, turned on the patio light, peered out. No chimes. I looked on the ground. Not there. I walked out into the breezy cold. I peered down into the back yard. No one ever went down there except in the Spring and Summer. It was dark. I shown the flashlight. Nothing.
Wednesday night I came home. I went out again and looked nothing.
I called her number and got a generic voice mail message. I hung up. I tried a couple of hours later. Same thing.
The next day at work, Thursday, I called again. No answer. Voice mail. Hung up. A message would be weird. I had been going over in my head. I've lost keys, credit cards, wallets, cell phones, in my apartment after putting them somewhere and forgetting I had done so. Could I have done that with the wind chimes? I thought it unlikely.
My phone rang around 4:00 PM. I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"
A male voice stated, "Yes, I've been getting calls from this number and was calling back to see what it's about."
I put two and two together quickly and stumbled through the details. I was looking for Stephanie to see if maybe she had removed the chimes on a particularly windy day and not replaced them.
I had sort of given an implied consent to do so over the Summer, but this was weird. Melanie and I could not recall when we had last heard the chimes. I knew it was after October 7, 2006, when I shot the video.
The guy on the phone was curt. "You need to talk to Stephanie," he said coldly. "Is this her boyfriend?" I asked. "No," he said quickly. Okay.
"Well, could you ask her to call me?" He said OK. Before he hung up, I tried again, "Can I ask who I'm talking to?"
"This is her friend," he said clinically. And the call ended.
That night I asked the landlady if she had found any chimes on her balcony below us, or down on the garden level. She said she hadn't, but she would look.
Today I walked out again and looked in the daylight. It was a windy day. I could hear someone's wind chimes in the building across the way. Our chimes were still missing.
I mentioned this scenario to a rabbi I know, who reads this blog. He reminded me of the Ninth Commandment: "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." Gotcha.
My chimes are gone. Unless they show up mysteriously soon, I will assume they have been chimenapped or stolen by seagulls. I have not received any demands. I eye the neighborhood birds suspiciously.
To be continued . . .
Yesterday on the way home, I looked around me on the N train, on the 59th Street platform in Brooklyn, and the R train.
This is what I observed people reading.
The Book of Joe by Jonathan Tropper.
Billy Straight by Jonathan Kellerman.
Earth Crimes by Jonathan & Faye Kellerman
American Photo magazine.
Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood by Julie Gregory.
Awaken the Giant Within : How to Take Immediate Control of Your Mental, Emotional, Physical and Financial Destiny! by Anthony Robbins
Astute BillyBlogReader Tony noticed, so I'm giving him props. I recently won a contest over at I Am Fuel, You Are Friends, a blog so cool y'all are probably tired of me yapping about it.
Heather, the brain behind the blog, did three things of interrelated interest. She dedicated a post to the Lucinda Williams reissue of Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, she ran a contest asking visitors to nominate the best "road" songs, and then she created two discs, posted as zip files on her site, for all of us to enjoy.
This is what I submitted:
Instructions:
1. Get in a Car in Las Vegas
2. Drive to edge of City, facing toward L.A.
3. Stop car
4. Roll down Windows
5. Turn volume up
6. Press play on stereo which has the Joshua Tree CD ready to go
7. Drive West
8. I can't help you with the goosebumps, you're on your own there. It's a religious experience.
Or, if you want to disqualify me for selecting an album instead of a song, get to L.A. and drive on a freeway with the title track from the Doors' L.A. Woman on the stereo. But do it at night, preferably when it isn't raining.
It's finally showing, for real this time, in NYC. To celebrate, this is what I listened to on the BilliPod shuffle on the way to work:
"You Are" by Pearl Jam, Live in Honolulu, 12/2/06
"A Man in a Purple Dress" by The Who, off of Endless Wire
"Miracle" by Foo Fighters, from In Your Honor
"All I Really Want" by Alanis Morissette, from Jagged Little Pill ("Why are you so petrified of silence?")
"All Because of You," from U2: Live from Under the Brooklyn Bridge
"Gimme Some Truth," Pearl Jam's cover of the John Lennon tune, their 2001 Fan Club single
Listen to "Gimme Some Truth", here, courtesy of I Am Fuel, You Are Friends. This linked post has a whole slew of the fan club singles.
"Georgia on My Mind" by Bill Charlap from his album Stardust
"Because," a stunning Beatles' cover by Elliott Smith, from the American Beauty soundtrack
"Steak Knife" by the Angry Samoans from their Unboxed Set
and
I ended with the following poem from Charles Bukowski Reads His Poetry:
"The Creation of the Morning Line"
I subscribe to a daily e-mail called "Web Junk of the Day". Every day I get sent an e-mail with a link to a viral video that is supposed to be fairly entertaining. They are usually funny, sometimes blogwothy, and once in a while, impossible not to post here. Today was one of those days. Here's the video, followed by the text from the Web Junk commentary:
The next time you are being pursued madly by a wild pack of Japanese folks (first, make sure you paid your bill) remember to stop and laugh because you might just be a victim of the prank show, "Troop of the One Hundred". On the program, which further pads Japanese TV's legacy of twisted genius, 100 people chase after random strangers leaving you to see their priceless and pathetic reactions. How would you react? Plans for a New York City-based version of the show were scrapped during the taping of the pilot after the first flash mob was murdered by an angry stock broker who was late for a meeting because of delays on the Long Island Railroad.
more:
Oh, and here are some translations of what is actually being said by the flash mob. They come courtesy of a Digg user who is smart enough to be bilingual, but goofy enough to be commenting on videos like this...
- For the 1st and 2nd guys, they shout: "There's a tsunami!!" (tsunami da!)
- For the 3rd guy they shout: "That's the guy!!" (koitsu da!)
- Nothing for the 4th guy
- Last scene: "Watch out!! (danger)" (abunai!)
As reported below/previously, I was in my former home base (1985-1997) of Los Angeles over the weekend, and on Saturday, riding shotgun with my brother, then my sister, I was El Touristo in the car, snapping pictures left and right, of blog-possible sights. They may or not be worthy, but they encapsulate my state of mind on the way to Pink's, at Pink's, and after Pink's. You could say it was Pinky on the Brain, but it's a beautiful city, in its mad L.A. way.
Saturday was a cold, sunny day. Cold for Southern California, but the sun still blazed warm. Above, the sun is just beginning to dip in the West, as we head East on the Santa Monica Freeway (aka "The 10"). The photo doesn't show it well enough, but out beyond downtown, we could see the San Gabriel Mountains and the snow-capped top of Mt. Baldy.
Below, also on the 10, I see that California DMV has loosened its liscence plate restrictions:
Earlier on La Brea, I saw this cool bookstore name:
More info on IL Literature here.
Below, not a great shot, but an eclectic junk/chair yard. I thought the yellow hand chair was cool, especially in proximity to the Pacifico beer cooler.
There once was (and still may be) a very popular lecture at Occidental College called "L.A. the Magnificent" given by Professor Robert Winter (see his books here). He loves L.A. architecture. Yet he bemoaned the absurdity that often befell great buildings in a city as transient and ever-changing as L.A. I think this following example might get his goat. I thought I had recognized it immediately, as the old May Company building at the corner of La Brea and Wilshire. Further research showed I had misidentified it, but I did unearth this trivia about the Glen-Wilson Building, at 5225 Wilshire Boulevard:
Designed by Meyer and Holler (of Grauman's Chinese and Egyptian Theatre fame), the Streamline Moderne and ZigZag tower is the tallest of the three 1920s high-rises on the Miracle Mile. It used to feature a dirigible mast soaring from the top, but Mutual of Omaha removed the mast when the insurer owned the building — costing it eligibility for the National Register of Historic Places.
My weekend posts from L.A. have been updated with photos. Scroll down to see what I ingested on Saturday.
I'm currently on the 405 South, with O.C. star Seth Cohen. My day has
consisted of riding the recumbent bike in the parental garage for forty
minutes, enough to justify that dog from Pinks. Walked an hour too with
Dear 'Ol Dad, in the lovely brisk Palos Verdes morning.
I saw a hummingbird and a murder of crows.
Did some last minute shopping and took some pictures of some P.V. peafowl squatting on someone's car.
Weird Al's on the stereo, as we head to Long Beach for one final stop
before the airport. Don't you hate people who bring yummy food on the plane with them? I'm one of them today, as we have found the closest In-n-Out Burger (Store 60 on Los Coyotes Diagonales):
and I'll have that on the plane. Seth says I should buy a bunch and
sell them on board and make a handy profit. However, I believe that there
are federal aviation regulations prohibiting the scalping of burgers mid-air.
See you back in Brooklyn.
We've been in line for an hour now and are close to ordering. Seth and I are getting the same thing: the Millenium Dog. That's a 12-inch jalapeno dog with tomatoes, lettuce, chili, grilled onions, and guacamole. How will we tell ours apart? I'm getting mine without the tomatoes and adding bacon. Photos will be added later.
Update: I got lucky and had the last 12" jalapeno dog. Seth settled for the same, but with a normal 12" frank.
Left to right: the chili-cheese fries we shared, my Millenium Dog in the middle, done up right, and Seth's on the end.
Delicious, and well worth the wait. Seth later remarked that if you factored in the one-hour drive,
At the world-famous Pink's, an L.A. institution since 1939. Have been in line for 20 minutes, will likely wait 40 minutes more. All for a hot dog.
On my way to a special lunch with my brother, Seth Cohen, the character
from the O.C. Will report in when we arrive at our predestined location.
When in San Diego, pass up Friday's, Outback, and Red Lobster, and find a
local joint for grub. And its the weekend of a Chargers playoff game, so
let's go to a sports-themed restaurant!
Had the Seau's BBQ Chicken Salad. Yum.
Well, I normally refrain from discussing work here, as this is not a work
blog, but I am currently in formerly sunny San Diego (the sun has set).
I presided over some rather unpleasant business today, as business can
often be unpleasant.
Now I am relaxing, for the most part, and will have more interesting things
to say in the days ahead.
I just looked at BillyBlog's traffic and saw I had 240 hits Wednesday and
Thiursday, which is big numbers for me. Thanks to all who came to visit,
returned, and thanks to Heather at I Am Fuel for linking me and VH1 Best
Week Ever for linkig her.
Cheers, dude.
I found this the other day on 31st Street between 6th and 7th Avenues. The imprint on thr back of the picture states this was developed in May 1985.
I am going to guess it's a candid shot taken at a wedding.
I am fascinated by this photograph. I am guessing the subject is the groom...white tux, rice or confetti in the hair, trailing a woman, who we can't see fully, plus there is an exposure problem in the shot. She is wearing a blue dress with a veil. I am taking a leap here that she is the bride.
The groom looks stunned, as if pondering what he's gotten into. His expression is almost haunting. I also am reminded of the Rolling Stones song "Paint it Black": I see a red door and I want to paint it black...
I'd love to hear your thoughts....
On a side note, I am off to California today for a brief business trip. Expect some live blogging from the road, but very little graphically. Here's a couple of songs to capture the mood:
Listen: a relatively unknown artist named Ollie Bird covers Led Zeppelin's "Going to California" (mp3) from the blog macktronic.
Listen and watch: Beck performing "Nausea" on The Late Show with David Letterman, with a special cameo on percussion:
and the Violent Femmes performing "Add it Up" on MTV's 120 Minutes:
lifted from yesterday's New York Times:
Appreciations
Mr. Noodle
Published: January 9, 2007
The news last Friday of the death of the ramen noodle guy surprised those of us who had never suspected that there was such an individual. It was easy to assume that instant noodle soup was a team invention, one of those depersonalized corporate miracles, like the Honda Civic, the Sony Walkman and Hello Kitty, that sprang from that ingenious consumer-product collective known as postwar Japan.
But no. Momofuku Ando, who died in Ikeda, near Osaka, at 96, was looking for cheap, decent food for the working class when he invented ramen noodles all by himself in 1958. His product — fried, dried and sold in little plastic-wrapped bricks or foam cups — turned the company he founded, Nissin Foods, into a global giant. According to the company’s Web site, instant ramen satisfies more than 100 million people a day. Aggregate servings of the company’s signature brand, Cup Noodles, reached 25 billion worldwide in 2006.
There are other versions of fast noodles. There is spaghetti in a can. It is sweetish and gloppy and a first cousin of dog food. Macaroni and cheese in a box is a convenience product requiring several inconvenient steps. You have to boil the macaroni, stir it to prevent sticking and determine through some previously obtained expertise when it is “done.” You must separate water from noodles using a specialized tool, a colander, and to complete the dish — such an insult — you have to measure and add the fatty deliciousness yourself, in the form of butter and milk that Kraft assumes you already have on hand. All that effort, plus the cleanup, is hardly worth it.
Ramen noodles, by contrast, are a dish of effortless purity. Like the egg, or tea, they attain a state of grace through a marriage with nothing but hot water. After three minutes in a yellow bath, the noodles soften. The pebbly peas and carrot chips turn practically lifelike. A near-weightless assemblage of plastic and foam is transformed into something any college student will recognize as food, for as little as 20 cents a serving.
There are some imperfections. The fragile cellophane around the ramen brick tends to open in a rush, spilling broken noodle bits around. The silver seasoning packet does not always tear open evenly, and bits of sodium essence can be trapped in the foil hollows, leaving you always to wonder whether the broth, rich and salty as it is, is as rich and salty as it could have been. The aggressively kinked noodles form an aesthetically pleasing nest in cup or bowl, but when slurped, their sharp bends spray droplets of broth that settle uncomfortably about the lips and leave dots on your computer screen.
But those are minor quibbles. Ramen noodles have earned Mr. Ando an eternal place in the pantheon of human progress. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime. Give him ramen noodles, and you don’t have to teach him anything.
LAWRENCE DOWNES
It was only a matter of time before I put on my Ten Club hat and posted about Pearl Jam. Aren't you impressed I lasted eight days?
Last month, I dropped a YouTube clip of a preview for a Don Cheadle-Adam Sandler film called Reign Over Me. Without mentioning it, I really only posted it because there was a snippet of the unreleased cover of the Who's "Love, Reign O'er Me" in the preview.
Digression: the beloved Melanie said she had something for me to watch from yesterday's Today Show last night. She DVR'd it. I said Ok. It was a story about menopause. I shifted uncomfortably. What was she trying to tell me? She's way too young for "the change". Half-way through, I hear the familiar opening bars of Pearl Jam's "I Am Mine," (off of 2002's Riot Act) maybe ten seconds worth. That was it. Cool that NBC used the song. Cooler that she thought it DVR-worthy.
Anywho, last night in Seattle, this morning in New York (read: midnight), radio station KISW played the whole track, the first public airing in full. Of course, rabid PJ fans had recorded it and I floated it over to Heather at I Am Fuel, You Are Friends, one of my favorite music bloggers. She also uncannily posted about Lucinda Williams the same day I did, and dropped the same film clip last month on the same day also. Heather, however, is a much more dedicated blogger and runs an amazing site. I strongly recommend BillyBlog regulars to check her out. She has a far greater grasp on the music scene, and a much longer dedication to Pearl Jam. She posted the new track here.
It's fairly true to the original, but instead of Daltrey's soaring vocals, we get Eddie Vedder's gravelly roar (and I mean that in a complimentary way). I am particularly struck by what I assume is Boom Gaspar's keyboard prowess, especially at the beginning of the song.
Shifting gears completely, Michiko Kakutani has a glowing review of Martin Amis' new book House of Meetings here, in the New York Times (registration required).
And yesterday, new inductees to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were announced. Honorees are:
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five (Kid Creole, Cowboy, Grandmaster Flash, Melle Mel, Mr. Ness, Raheim),
Listen: The Adventures of Grandmaster Flash and the Wheels of Steel (mp3), courtesy of blog So Much Silence.
Watch: "Eruption," Eddie's trademark performance:
