I edited my profile with Thomas Myspace Editor V4.4 (www.strikefile.com/myspace) The Music Business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side.
- Hunter S. Thompson
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Rock Of Ages
by Merle Leonce Bone aka Manuel Aubert (excerpt)
"...Author of his own crack, gathering/dragging out rhyme and sounds among the most untamed and joggled of this planet. In clandestine workhouses of Brooklyn, stitching together his sonic patchwork (Freylekhs ruined by Noire, Adulterated Polkas drunk with Bat-Cave Swing, Kasbek-Krakowiak-Bluegrass ripped-up for Coarse Tangos, tattered Waltzes hoarse and swerving from way too much Vinho Verde, Psychotic Klezmers turned Golem-Punk on wild beat posts) after submitting them to the demanding gazes of his chiseled experts of the taraf (the aptly named Bill Pace & Benjahman Ironside, supported on distorted occasions by Guy 'Half Sexy Butcher' Incognito)... This is Mr. Parks and his Big Cat Cossacks, magnifying rhythmatics dancing on all terrain.
Re: Alchemy and Pigment Search, Tints of Origin, the Near Death Experience is not World Music for Orientalist-Neo-Colonial Pillagers, it's a laboratory. It's beautiful handiwork.
He would have been spotted in some European harbor, before the awakening of the city, dock workers unloading their trawlers, in various languages, before market. Very early in the morning, round quarter past five, Mister Parks quiet and aloof, smoking a fag, sitting absently here or there on the steps of a warehouse, sipping out of a paper bag his Tennessee Sour Mash. Laying next to him his radio broadcasts old Soul and Stax records, "Mister Bigstuff" by Jane Knight or maybe even "Yiddishe Mamma" or the "Big Road Blues" by Tav Falco… Down through the interior courtyards, those sounds winding, Mikado from one side to the other, in a mingling of thread and rope breaking under the weight of drenched laundry and bass notes, of dusk and dawn, spurred on through the filters of baritone sax and trombone stooges Heckle Stefan Zenuik & Jeckle Sam Kulik, full of visions of green fairy and maple syrup, in his songs, by his voice.
And to discover what the man is capable of...a wildly inspired outpouring...all you have to do is open you ears and simply put them to the wonderful, rough urbane opening track "Glad Divine". The groove-beast maculate white-trash instantly settles (let's thank Elyas Khan 's dervish accented qaawali solo …) in our flesh and feelings. You'll find clearly that on only rare occasions since Tom Waits, the Bad Seeds, Captain Beefheart, and possibly Boxcar Satan, Lounge Lizards, Tex Napalm, Spencer P. Jones or Hugo Race, was experienced in this dark story of rock, something so reproductive, kicked about, physical, carnivorous, virile and reptilian...."
"Last Outlaw Bandini C[H] assidic
Chad Parks
as incarnated heritage
of the
Mayflower
it's the constant backwash
the one taking you away from the port
butwhich is
getting you closer to
the
universal
heart...."
Merle Leonce Bone aka Manuel Aubert, Tours July 15th 2007.
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