the spanish song

[Vaska]

This one's for Harrison, so he can drool some more ;)

Tail end of the 70s, Patti Smith in Bologna: my very first rock concert ever
[hey, I spent most of the decade shut in with a bunch of Franciscan nuns,
what can I say].  Patti flies into a mighteous fit of rage at the apparent
insouciance and shall we say carelessness of her Italian fans -- a nice
performance, in its own right, that.  Cut to Milan a few evenings later, a
stone's throw from La Scala, to find Vaska the idiot lustily arguing with a
couple of Italy's [really rather fine] musicologists over the expressive
power of the human voice at its rawest.  How's that for true confessions of
one's more lunatic moments, eh?  

But terror?  What terror?  I thought I heard pain, maybe even some anguish
there.  Guess it's that gender difference at work again.

Vaska

Harrison Sherwood bears his soul:
>>From: 	jroca at gallonlaw.com
>
>>Great time to be alive only 'cause that's the year I first heard Patti 
>>Smith's HORSES album...the best album ever made, in this dimension or any 
>>other.  Not only was it dangerous, rocking, irreverent, and fun, but it 
>>would piss my father off to no end, which made it worth more than it's 
>>weight in vinyl.
>>
>>Tribe
>
>Oh, Patti, Patti, Patti... I would have crawled over broken glass just
>for a ghost of a smile from her emaciated lips. And that's probably
>about all I'd've gotten, too.
>
>"Horses" is liberation through terror. She scared the living shit out of
>me, this skinny, dangerous, fierce-assed, aggro woman with haunted
>coal-black eyes and hairy armpits, shrieking poetry that equated sex and
>death, daring you, _commanding_ you, to break something valuable just to
>hear it shatter. Didn't think women were allowed to do that stuff....
>Goddess, she was sexy!
>
>(It's a measure of my worship for her that she can still empurple my
>prose after 20 years!)