1968-1974; 1995 As they became known to their legion of fans, “The Wrights” rode the high wave of prog rock in the late 1960s and early 1970s, re-surfacing briefly (and disastrously) in the Age of Grunge. From the time of their second album, if not their first, they were unsurpassed for arty, ambitious, meticulously structured, and extremely long records, produced according to the principles obtaining from nature, such as the spinning of a spider’s web. As their putative leader, Rael Conan Doyle, declared to ‘Cacophony Magazine’, “we don’t want you to hum; we don’t want you to dance. Don’t tap…
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Father dabbed his mouth, Declared contentment with his meal Mother had made, after a day At work, assembled to “Blue Hills”; And in expansive mood, Reflected that they might do well To open a café, right on this spot, To pay some bills. This very clever man Somehow forgot to wonder why Places of hospitality Open and close; But thought that patrons would arrive And seat themselves upon our couch, Cars in our crowded drive and on The table, elbows. Mum would serve and make the food And Dad would schmooze; From a domestic kitchen This would pass, And as…
Continue Reading →I’ll never leave, or if I do, I shall always return to you, For it’s you, it’s you, always you, Save the Glory of Art. Feel no jealousy; Raphael won’t draw from me Emotion I might save for you – It stays tucked in my heart. And while’s I’m talking true, We can stop or start, Right the wrong in part; Save the Glory of Art. I’ll never leave, or where I go You shall be the first to know, What’s on the wall is just for show Save the Glory of Art.
Continue Reading →'Sisyphus' by Titian
This is the year we did unravel, The moment when the joys of travel Were undone; We lost the trust Of those who quacked, scolded, fussed Over our lives, and sought our love But abandoned us when push met shove. This the year when we all learned That skin is rent and flesh is burned By any common garden device Wielded by those who sacrifice, The year in which we fully saw Common bonds do tie no more. Bullets at the temples flew, Boats sank in the water blue, Bombs and bluffs we never knew Were true; and cancer grew….
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