Uncle Bardie’s Weekly Music Pick: When Fall Comes to New England

It’s Thursday again. You know what that means. Uncle Bardie’s Weekly Music Pick. Uncle Bardiie gives a double thumbs up to this week’s selection: “When Fall Comes to New England” by Cheryl Wheeler:

Here’s another singer, Cheryl Wheeler, I discovered quite by accident. Though I grew up in the South and call Florida home, this song makes me want to be a New Englander. It’s a song that celebrates a time and a place, and celebrates it so beautifully. And it celebrates a season that gets short shrift. Autumn is usually on everybody’s second season list. But I think it is my favorite season. Enjoy.

Politics in America 26: All Reporters are Report–I take that back.

They were journalists. Reporters. The Fourth Estate. They were broadcasters. Newspaper people. Bloggers. Gossip mongers. Liberals. Liars. Those media people were downright…what was the word…people. Yes, people. Human beings. And they all had a bad case of proclaiming there was a fire when there was only smoke. That was a fact.

Big Al couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The reporters were calling the election. The damn reporters were calling the election. Hawaii still had to come in. And Illinois needed a recount. He sat in front of the tv in his hotel room. He was so angry he threw a lamp at the tv. Both the lamp and the tv screen busted.

He picked up his phone and called the Campaign’s legal team. A C Schister, the lead muckety muck, answered. Before Big Al could speak, A C talked, “I see. We’re heading into court first thing in the morning and asking for an injunction. I personally am suing Big News Guy. This is outrageous.”

Before you knew it, someone leaked a photo of Big News Guy on a tilt-a-whirl with his favorite co-anchor. “That will teach him. Freedom of the Press, my rump. We’ll see how much alimony it’s going to cost Big News Guy.” Big Al laughed.

Everybody at Do-Naughty Central was on pins and needles to hear from Hawaii. Some were even on needles and pins. Big Al went down stairs and joined the rest of the Campaign Staff.

They were just about to get the Hawaii results when all of a sudden they heard a noise. This wasn’t just a noise. This sounded like a tornado. Someone checked her weather app. Nothing. The weather was as fine as wine in the summertime. What the hey was that sound?

Maybe an extra terrestrial invasion? No. No e.t. on the horizon and none were phoning home.

Maybe a invasion from one of the many enemies of the United States? No. The United States did not have any enemies.

Maybe a gang of supervillains invaded the planet? No. All the superheroes had taken care of that.

Just what the heck was that sound?

Next Week It Sure Ain’t Santa Claus 

Uncle Bardie’s Movie of the Week: Ain’t Mother Nature Grand

Once a week on Monday, Uncle Bardie shares a movie with his Readers he gives a big two thumbs up. It will simply be a short excerpt or a trailer. Uncle Bardie might even throw in a reflection on the movie. If so, it will make an appearance below the video. So pop some popcorn and give yourself a treat. This week’s movie is “Flight of the Butterflies” (2012):

Mother Nature has given this planet something spectacular. The Monarch Butterfly is indeed an amazing creature. A miracle of beauty. It moves noiselessly across our fields and back yards, making its way on a migration few of us have ever realized. When I see the Monarch fluttering along in my back yard, I stop and look in amazement. These creatures are something.

It is only recently that science has discovered how miraculous this creature is. It migrates from the mountains of Mexico north into Texas and then further north to New England and Canada, then returning to the mountains of Mexico. It takes three generations to make that migration. The third generation migrates over a thousand miles to return to its homeland in Mexico.

“Flight of the Butterflies” chronicles this extraordinary migration and the Canadian entomologist Fred Urquhart who made the Monarch Butterfly his life’s work. .

The View

Manny and Hazel are a couple who have been married for 35 years. They are touring Europe for the first time. They are in Berlin and standing at the top in the dome of a government building. Hazel loves the view.

Manny, this is some view.

It ought to be. They spent a fortune on it.

C’mon, Manny, don’t be a spoil sport.

Who? Me? A spoil sport? I’m just pointing out the facts.

Why don’t you just enjoy the view?

We liberate these people from the Nazis. Spend a fortune. It’s cost us I don’t know how many lives. And they don’t pay us back.

Now, Manny, these Germans are nice people.

Under all those nice clothes we’re seeing are people that still owe us money.

Geez. Sometimes, Manny, I don’t know why I do it.

Do what?

Drag you along on these excursions. You’re nothing but a sourpuss. You know that?

Yes, Mrs. Sunshine. You never ever rain on my parade.

When do I rain on your parade? Tell me?

When I go play golf.

You know golf is such a stupid game. Now bridge, that’s a game.

Is not. It don’t take no skills to sit on your butt and play cards. Any doofus could do it.

You try it and see if it takes no skill. You’ll see.

I am not going to play bridge. I don’t care what you say. Oh, look. I can see where the Wall used to be. I bet I can see Russia from here too.

See. I told you it was a nice view.

Manny smiles and takes his wife’s hand.

Uncle Bardie’s Weekly Music Pick: Fair and Tender Ladies

It’s Thursday again. You know what that means. Uncle Bardie’s Weekly Music Pick. Uncle Bardiie gives a double thumbs up to this week’s selection: “Fair and Tender Ladies” by Gene Clark with Carla Olson.

It’s Uncle Bardie’s birthday. That’s right. Uncle Bardie is a bi-cuspiteer, a Virgo leaning toward the Libra side of the lake. And this one is for Uncle Bardie.

For some of you, it’s Prince. For some, it’s David Bowie. For some, it’s Lemmy. For me, it’s Gene Clark I miss the most.

If you’ve never heard of Gene Clark, then you’ve missed one awesome talent. He was the main man in the Byrds, composing a good deal of their early stuff: “I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better”, “Set You Free This Time”, “Here Without You”, “You Won’t Have to Cry”, “If You’re Gone”, “The World Turns All Around Her”, “She Don’t Care About Time” and “Eight Miles High”. After three albums, he went solo for a variety of reasons, among them his fear of flying.

Gene was a songwriter who would never lose his ability to put the most beautiful lyrics to music. He collaborated with a number of musicians including the bluegrass band, The Dillards. His album “Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers” had a slew of West Coast talent backing him. In addition to the Gosdins, they were former bandmates Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke. Glen Campbell, Jerry Cole, and Leon Russell, Clarence White and Doug Dillard joined in with their talent. During the eighties, he collaborated with Carla Olson.

With his voice, he brought a vulnerability and sensitivity that is rare. That is obvious on Gene and Carla’s version of this old folk song. I don’t know of another version that comes close to the beauty of this one.

Lately his status as a cult figure has been rising. But for a long time he has been ignored by the rock music press, though not by the musicians. Now he is being discovered by the very press that ignored him so long.

I gotta tell you I heard his “No Other” album when it was released in in 1974 and loved it. The fact that it did not sell well was a great disappointment to me. It was up there with “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club” and “Dark Side of the Moon” with its brilliance. It was a perfect album from beginning to end. So perfect I wore it out listening to it. Unfortunately I couldn’t find a replacement. Then in the nineties, I came across the anthology, “American Dreamer”, quite by accident. There were several of the songs from “No Other”, then I finally found a copy of his masterpiece.

Just one last thing to say. Thanks, Gene, for all the music.

Here’s a couple more of my favorite Genes. Man, that man knew how to lay down a lyric:

Radio Song.

The Virgin.