I invited a bunch of people to visit me here. I hope some of them actually do because I need an audience for my maunderings. You know, that word sounds like a combination of "wandering" and "meandring." But actually, it's a little less flattering: 1. moving or acting in a dreamy, vague, aimless way 2. talking in an incoherent, rambling way; drivel. A lot of people would say either definition suits me to a tee, especially the last one, "drivel." Well, the older I get, the more likely I'll start driveling down my chin. Enough of the word stuff. If you're new to my site, welcome. I tend to be opinionated, so I hope some of my opinions don't offend anyone. If so, then tough beans. Live with it.
If you ever want to speak to me or say something about one of my opinions, the comment box at the bottom of each entry is there for you to use. I'd welcome any comments. Today was my last day at Stardust and I think I lost a few pieces of my heart when I said goodbye to all my Tuesday friends. Wow, will I ever miss you. Life moves on.
Today, I'd like to talk about modern music. I'm talking about the stuff that now leads cd sales, you know, hip hop by people I don't want to know or to listen to, or Lady Gaga, or all the young whippersnappers that young ladies or lads scream at when they appear. I'm an avid follower of Ellen Degeneres and her afternoon show, but nearly all the new singers and groups she features simply turn me off. Okay, the rhythm is great if that's all you want or need in music. Yesterday, she had on a group called "Broken Bells" (clever name), and I guess they sounded pretty good, four guitars, a drummer, and a keyboard. But I couldn't understand a single word they were singing. I'm from the old school when a song, if it was any good at all, told me a story about mostly requited or unrequited love. The better the songwriter, the more surprising the images and rhymes. There are exceptions today, I know, but for the most part, modern songs just don't say much of anything. And I'm offended when I hear hip hop artists describe the stuff they hip hop to as "songs." They're not. At best they're doggeral verse. I need stuff by the Gershwins, Rogers and Hart, Cole Porter, Alan and Marilyn Bergman. Last week I watched a PBS special, Michael Feinstein's examination of the Great American Songbook. Was it ever good. It was all about his searching out old sheet music and old vinyl records from the past, all about his quest to preserve as much of that past as possible. It was excellent. I think the whole thing is in four parts. If you get a chance, watch any of the segments. He and I share a love of the old standards, the old sets of words and music that make up the Great American Songbook. Today's songs just don't compare. Or maybe I'm just an old fuddy duddy.