Blame It On The Blues (A Weary Blue)

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Academy of American Poets. National Poetry Month.

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American Poets Magazine. A Brief Guide to Jazz Poetry. Perhaps the form can be best understood through a few lines from the poets themselves: Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter. Teach This Poem. Follow Us. Find Poets. Read Stanza. Jobs for Poets. It's just that it refuses to present me with new ideas - musical, conceptual, lyrical, production-wise, whatever.

Not a single one; practically every song on here invokes visions of its predecessors, at least one and sometimes two and more. The well had clearly run dry. Anyway, what the boys do here is trying to re-create a carbon copy of A Question Of Balance , albeit with quite naturally much less appealing results. The concept, once more, deals with the problems of age and life stages see the album cover for references. Why they were so obsessed with aging is beyond me.

After all, none of them were responsible for lines of the 'hope I die before I get old' type, so what the hell? Days Of Future Passed already said it all.

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Unfortunately, this album doesn't sound as fresh after the previous six ones Hey now, I've just visited the Rolling Stone Guide page to see what these guys think of the Moodies, and now I'm really at a loss for words. You know, I'm not the greatest Moodies fan in the world, but to put them down like they did, wow What's even more interesting is that they level them with the ground on the grounds that they were much too artsy and pretentious, with their albums always following the same scheme.

So what, I say? You know, I already got sick of the word 'pretentious' when applied to rock bands. Who the hell decided what is pretentious and what isn't?

And, first of all, why can't an artist be pretentious when he wants to? Art always was pretentious, all genres of it. If the Rolling Stone Guide thinks pretentious artists shouldn't exist, we should burn the books of Sophocles, Shakespeare, Dostoyevski and Camus; rip apart ninety-nine percent of Renaissance pictures; and finally, discard classical music as a genre, because it's pretentious almost by definition. Why do we let other people be pretentious and deny the honour to rock musicians? You know, I find it very hard to prattle about pop music. The thing is, nobody knows exactly what is good pop music and what isn't.

Everybody knows that there is good pop music and there is bad pop music, but the number of opinions on that point coincides with the number of people that have 'em at all. Even if we exclude those that think the Spice Girls are good pop music from the number of 'people with some kind of taste', that still leaves quite a lot of pain in the ass to sort it out.

One good man thinks well of all 'classic' pop; another good man thinks well of the Beatles and the Beach Boys and puts down Fleetwood Mac as 'pap'; yet another gentleman praises Fleetwood Mac and says 'this is so much better than ABBA'; and the next reverend person objects, 'hey, I love ABBA! Now the Carpenters.. Where does that borderline lie that separates Pop from Pablum?

Takes a really wise long-bearded person to find out, or else just takes time. Time, as the only judge respected by everybody, will sort it out.

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Currently time has upheld my idea about ABBA being much better than everybody thinks they were and ground to dust former hip stars like Pat Boone or Frankie Avallon. But who knows, that might yet change in a million years The first glossy, clean and totally artificial 'Newdy Blues' product: eatable, but verrry second-rate. So Mike Pinder is gone and they replaced him with Moraz. Big deal, you say.

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Nope, the deal is actually quite big. This album is certainly far less horrendous than Octave : the boys have embarked on one more journey for catchy hooks, truly emotional singing and memorable melodies, and they don't fall into self-parody like they did on some of Ray Thomas' numbers three years earlier. But there's a much more serious problem waiting in the closet: where Octave managed to preserve at least a few shreds of the 'classic' sound, like on 'Survival', Long Distance Voyager presents the band as a Mainstream Eighties Keyboard Pop Band, and only their undisputable talent helps them somehow stand out from among other representatives of this genre - one of the most miserable genres of all time, along with hair metal and technopop.

In other words, Octave inspires remarks like: 'Hey!

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They used to be the Moody Blues, didn't they? Carry me back, ten years before this tripe! Quite glossy, too, but at least the main accent here is on songwriting, not 'fitting in with the times'. Amazingly, this one's even better - I give it an eight with no remorse at all. And why? Because it has such a cool album cover! Ooh, verrry sexy in that romantic old Greek style, although the album's title hardly fits in with the artwork.

I realize I could possibly finish the review right here, but as a bonus to the artwork comes a set of ten crappy wastes of tape that somehow seem to demand much more of the buyer's attention than the artwork, so with a deep sigh I'll probably need to set out reviewing the Pop Stinkers of the Eighties Moody Schlock. Are there any acoustic demos of this stuff? In , bands with a year work stage - like the Moody Blues - should have taken a hint and gone in for a long, long period of hibernation.

After all, they probably had enough fat stuffed in their paws to last the long winter of cheesy third-hand synth pop. Alas, nobody had the chance to offer them a time machine at the time, rendering it impossible for them to take a short trip into the nearest future - "other side of life" indeed - and see the many odd and unpredictable ways of lambasting that people have invented since then for this kind of dated, ridiculous shit. The best I can say is thank God at least Justin Hayward, much to his credit, never considered raising his hair five feet high - of the five dated, ridiculous dudes on the back cover, he alone looks like a perfectly normal guest cameo in Sex And The City.

The rest A strange one. Apparently, it isn't in print any more not in the US, at least , and where the tracks from it have gone I don't know clearly. This one's more or less roughly divided into equal parts. The first one combines early singles' material from and , with some songs originally released even before Days Of Future Passed and thus offering us a quick insight into the first days of the 'new look' Moodies with a freshly installed Justin Hayward and a freshly installed John Lodge.

The Caught Live album seemed to have gone out of print by the time of Prelude itself, so it seemed logical to preserve the 'plus five' bits for a bit longer.

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Where they can be found now, I don't know. Don't even ask me - and I hate it when a band gets its catalog all messed up, like this one, or like the Stones, or like Blame it on the record company, of course. If you ever wanted to see a good band crash deep down into Eighties' production dung, this is the best choice. I've been warned that this is bad; however, I really had no idea about how bad this could be until I actually picked it up and forced myself to listen to it of course, I had to wait until I was alone in the apartment.

This is indeed the lowest point in the Moodies' career, and something they ought to be ashamed of for the rest of their lives. Now, as far as I know, the boys themselves aren't to be blamed. It was the Eighties, see. Pounding Heart Blues. Lonesome Blues.

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Lil Armstrong. Dear Old Southland. Bechet's Steady Rider. Saturday Night Blues. Louis Blues. Jazz Me Blues. Tom Delaney. High Society. Salty Dog Weary Blues. Cliff Jackson. Jackass Blues. Milenberg Joys. Jelly Roll Morton. Lord Let Me in the Lifeboat. Days Beyond Recall. Porto Rico. Up in Sidney's Flat. Save It, Pretty Mama. Way Down Yonder in New Orleans. Memphis Blues. James Infirmary. The Darktown Strutters' Ball. Shelton Brooks. Blame It on the Blues. Charles L. Old Stack O'Lee Blues.

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