JK: I know: Spotify gives you everything, so this question is no longer relevant. But... Desert Island Disks: your choices
I screened the documentary movie Mavis! lead singer of her family group, The Staple Singers.
It's been a long, a long time comin'.
Predicting the future is fraught with difficulty in the rapidly changing, competitive marketplace of American religion. But the prospects for a turnaround in mainline Protestantism are growing fainter as the movement enters its second half-century of precipitous decline.
The man I once viewed as "the strongest daddy in da' world" was now too weak to defend himself against the young dope boys in the community. Overnight he became less entertaining. His jokes became irritating. His singing and dancing morphed into buffoonery. He could do no right in my eyes.
When in love with the old but exploring the new, Brooklyn Native Charles Perry is a dream-find. His voice is the perfect combination of smooth and raspy, and he definitely croons like all of your old favorites.
It's not about "political correctness" (in the context of current Mississippi politics, supporting the inclusion of the Rebel standard on the state flag is the politically "correct" thing to do). It's about moral correctness; it's about historical correctness; it's about common decency.
To my regret, I never got to know Allen Klein. Nevertheless, I enjoyed an up-and-down relationship with -- as Fred Goodman describes him in his fascinating new book -- Allen Klein: The Man Who Bailed Out The Beatles, Made The Rolling Stones, and Transformed Rock and Roll.
Elliot Horne, whose clock sadly stopped in 1989 when he was 67, was an 18-carat cat. He didn't have boatloads of biz juice and wasn't a major breadmaker. But he was a sweet scratcher with Cornynesque language chops and a Lundvallian devotion to jazz.