The great Jackie Wilson gives two electric performances of Higher and Higher, circa 1974. His mindboggling gifts are on full display throughout; it’s as if time/space were suspended.
Category: Charisma
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Guitarists, of Note.
The twin titans, Robert Fripp and Adrian Belew, share amusements and dovetail perfectly in these performances.
Then, Terry Kath of Chicago. Hendrix had high praise for this great man.
Well. Hendrix himself.
Mr. John McLaughlin and Co.
The mighty and eternal Allan Holdsworth.
And, of course, the great Pat Martino.
Indeleble performances from giants of the art.
“The High Priest of quasi-androgynous Synth-Pop/Electronica, the Impassive Alien Deity, The Gary Numan.” *That* is the gist of the above Volume Integral symbol. What has been used to calculate Flux Densities, and has served as one’s WordPress Profile “About Me” content, to boot, now is more—much more—much, much more.
We’ll lead off with four epoch-defining…”performances” {which will, I suppose, have to suffice, word-wise, as there exist no words suitable…}. He is **up** to something…..
The first and third videos are both from Dutch TV program TopPop, 1979. They are *not* identical, however. One, I believe, was not broadcast {the 1st; perhaps the “smiling” was considered too dangerous…}. Both are sublime.
By 1984, Numan was atop the globe.
Spellbinding are Numan’s performances on Down in the Park, live at the Odeon, 1979 and 1984. Doom-y, dramatic, evocative, remarkable.
He created aural landscapes which allowed access to the unfathomable. His performances have been described in so many ways. Strikingly “robotic”. Otherworldly. Mesmerizing. And there’s an edge, accompanying his trenchant intelligence; a certain wariness. At times, an unnerving camaraderie with….whatever it may be, the ritual held out in the open, hauntingly obvious, yet impenetrable. A language we’ve forgotten; mind-argot beyond our ken.
Go ahead. Choose a realm, any realm. Ian’s not from there; he’s never taken up residence there, and, for that matter, spends precious little—if any—time there. Yes. It’s been proven.
Mr. Ian Hunter, the lead vocalist and braintrust of Mott the Hoople {so named after a 1966 novel by Willard Manus}, realized early on in his life, that, at least in terms of music, he quite simply was *not* like the others. It affected him much, much more powerfully.
Hunter joined a band called Silence, which was then renamed on a whim by the Svengali-like Guy Stevens, noted impresario and bon vivant. Mott enjoyed some success, but was nearing the end of its tether, when one David Bowie offered them a song. All The Young Dudes became, of course, a huge hit, an anthem, the sound of an era.
Ian continued with Mott until December, 1974, then led a somewhat less hectic and more varied lifestyle. He worked briefly with the great Mick Ronson; the final track we here offer is an almost impossibly beautiful, wistful piece of music, and it is enhanced by Ronson’s mandolin. Mott the Hoople leave a unique legacy; a band beloved well beyond what their fame/fortune would indicate…yet they are really not a “cult” band, either. How dare they.
Mr. Murphy is in top form still. He is in full command of his towering vocal abilities. A mesmerist is in the house. And, *you* let him in!!!!!!!!!!!!
The enigmatic and other-worldly Peter Murphy presents an imposing, daunting figure, one who seems unlacking in self-assurance. And, if anything, his *astonishing* vocal talents are fully—possibly more fully than ever—intact. Like unto a god. Or whatever he is.
2011 French Open Semifinal vs. Djokovic here.
This masterful, stylish Swiss athlete, Roger Federer, has achieved such towering heights, in tennis, that he is *generally* considered the sport’s greatest ever practitioner. He has given many, many thrills over the years…with his nonpareil artistry and creativity; his indomitable will; his uncanny proclivity to produce his best when it matters most, when so many others wilt. At his best, Roger’s game was—and, is—nothing short of poetry, the poetry of a genius…a slightly mad one, at that.
I’ll always recall my first viewing, against American Andy Roddick, in the 2003 Wimbledon semi-finals. His preternatural grace and *feel* for the game I simply found astonishing. Magical. When Federer closed out the second set with, really, something no one had seen—a running, forehand half-volley {usually a defensive shot} utterly whipped into the corner for an uncontested winner—both men had to smile. Commentator John McEnroe, quite capable of producing his *own* magic with a racket, was incredulous. “That’s not possible.”
On a personal note, I was fortunate enough to partake of the Great Man at very close quarters; a practice session. Being at such proximity to Mr. Federer would have to be included in one’s rather intimately scaled coterie of “Religious Experiences”. Plus, he also rather casually did something impossible. He’s like that.
The song Badlands is belted out with supreme force (Get It Straight!!) and something else I wonβt attempt to name. I donβt think Iβve ever seen a crowd react in quite this way. 2002, in Barcelona. Badlands, defiant and uplifting, is one of Bruceβs best, to meβthe first cut off Darknessβbut this is simply transcendent. One sees here, for reals, why many witnesses to Springsteenβs legendary shows view him as an almost religious figure.
From 2009. The mighty and just a bit intense Bruce Springsteen unleashes the goods, ALL of βem, on the moving Something in the Night. This song, from the great 1978 album Darkness on the Edge of Town, is, probably, if gun were put to head , to me, the greatest song the great man wrote. There are many. But this, this just totally embodies Springsteen.
These gents are titans of prog, rock, prog-rock…and then there’s the mind-boggling talents and idiosyncrasies of Mr. Ian Anderson.
Thaumaturge, wizard, vocalist/performer/showman supreme. Mr. Ian Anderson.
Note: Revised 7/31/2019.
And sneaking in at the last moment……..1977, Golders Green Hippodrome.
