sinead, miley and grace unplugged: all I've ever needed is your love

It's not often that Sinead O'Connor and Focus on the Family (FOTF) agree on much. Maybe anything. But when it comes to Miley Cyrus and the chew-em-up-spit-em-out nature of the music industry, they have some common ground.

PluggedIn, the entertainment arm of FOTF, says in a review of Miley's latest release:

"(Miley) and her producers know...that emotional vulnerability doesn't smash records. Riding naked on a wrecking ball does."

In a recent open letter to Miley, Sinead O'Connor states it a little more bluntly:

"The music business doesn't give a sh*t about you."

oh my achy breaky heart

"Remember who you are." – Mufasa (quoting Ray and Mary Carver)

My parents were saying this way before the Disney machine churned out The Lion King. These were the words they sent me off with on a regular basis. Whether I was going on a date, to a friend's house, or away on an extended trip, their exhortation was always the same: "Remember who you are."

"you played good for a girl" - goodbye, Marian McPartland

Nowadays it seems to me nobody takes trouble about anything, especially writing songs. - Marian McPartland 

Every once in a while, a person will come along and beat the odds. They'll combine their natural talent and passion with a lot of hard work and a boatload of perseverance to buck the stereotypes, stump the naysayers, and create something beautiful and new and uniquely theirs. The jazz world lost such a treasure on 20 August when jazz pianist and radio host Marian McPartland died at the age of 95.

Marian McPartland, Mary Lou Williams, Thelonious Monk (Photograph by Art Kane)

a parent's worst nightmare, a parent's best hope

Last night I had every parent's nightmare: I dreamed my child was kidnapped.

It was just a dream. She is fine. But still, it was very disconcerting.

my weird habits: being a human pincushion

Yesterday I allowed myself to be stuck with needles like a voodoo doll, and boy do I feel better!

I have chronic pain and stiffness in my right shoulder. I've had it for years and years. Only recently did I realize that it probably was the result of playing the tenor saxophone in band from middle school through college. Hanging a 7lb weight around your neck for hours at a time and carrying a 24 lb case to school and back could definitely have some repercussions. Talk about suffering for your art.

Regular visits to the chiropractor, occasional deep massage, and stretching regularly usually keep me in good health. But lately the pain has increased, and now my lower arm and elbow are acting up and my right hand goes to sleep if I don’t keep moving it. I rearranged my workstation. I shifted my pillows. I tried arnica gel and even resorted to ibuprofen, but I still couldn't get relief.

Finally I made an appointment to get stuck in Summerville. With needles. On purpose.

power, sex and hope: the ageless story of Camelot

"...The winter is forbidden till DecemberAnd exits March the second on the dotBy order, summer lingers through September...There is simply nota more congenieal spotthan here in Camelot" -  King Arthur in Camelot by Alan Jay Lerner

Imagine an idyllic city. A holy city. A beautiful, hopeful city, warm and inviting and surrounded by sparkling water. A city bursting with the best life has to offer: Love. Power. Wealth. Gentility. Diligence. Charity. Elegance. 

But it seems wherever virtuous self-promotion commands the limelight, a seedier side lurks nearby in the shadows: Infidelity. Greed. Illegitimacy. Intrigue. Revenge. Desire. War. 

Even in Camelot. Or Charleston.