Badalamenti Baker

What can I say about Badalamenti’s Twin Peaks music that doesn’t sound like fan boy gushing. I love this soundtrack. I can remember hearing this for the first time on the TV show and being breathless with the mix of fifties’ swing, rock and sweeping romanticism. It’s one of those cd’s that I always play twice in a row.

suitcase body in a suitcase?

Eerie, evocative and unforgettable it elevated TV soundtracks to a whole new level without resorting to trends (CSI using Sigur Ros). Mark Snow managed to equal this with his music for the X-Files & Millennium. But Badalamenti’s TV music hasn’t been bettered. As much as I enjoy the Julie Cruise cuts they drag the cd down. We don’t need no freaking vocalists 🙂

blueart remains to be collected

I came across Ginger Baker & the DJQ 20: Coward of the County as a delete back in 2006. Baker’s history is what made me buy it. I hadn’t really followed his career after The Cream – though I do have some of the GB’s Airforce in my collection now (more about those when I get to them oh the pop shelves).


home in the wild

The cd proved to be solid jazz. No exactly easy listening banal but nothing jumps out about it either. Guest on sax James Carter is great, tasteful and sweet. Baker plays well – no showboating drum solos. It was well worth the $1.99 I paid for it.



‘What do you see?’

I looked around the backyard. A path had been tracked  through the snow to the gate. The snow lay dirty and uneven from fence to fence, higher along the sides of the path  and melted unevenly in some areas.

‘Dirty snow.’ I shrugged. ‘Birds have found a few convenient spots for their business.’

‘Good. Not everyone would see that. Anything else.’

I wasn’t sure just what it was my Dad wanted me to see.

‘Nope. Wait. The grass is brown like its been burned by the ice?’

‘Nice try. But you’re going to have to better than that. I’ll just leave you here. Say five minutes? Use your senses, not just your eyes.’ He went back into the warm house.

Oh great! I’m going to have smell the rotting winter soil for him. I made my eyes go from corner to corner. I pretended they were mowing the snow like a lawn mower mowing the grass when it came back to life. Back and forth my eyes moved from fence to fence to either side of the yard, around the edges of the garage and closer to the house till I was staring at my feet.

What did I see? Our yard. Nothing much changed in it. Snow now, then grass would wake, bulbs would pop up, later the annuals & perennials my mom would plant, then leaves would fall for me to rake.

It was by the maple tree that I had stepped on the rake tines and cut my foot. The handle of the rake jumped up to hit me on the nose at the same time. I don’t know what bothered me then – the embarrassment, the sudden fear of it lunging at me, or my sister seeing it happen & going into convulsive laughter when it happened. I could have killed her that day and then myself.

Now there was just that uneven snow. What was under that clump of snow? Ah yes the yarrow that I used to call Queen Anne’s Scab for some reason. A clump of it that had been there when we first moved into the house. We had added some pinks to contrast with the yellow and white.  It was three or four years before I realized it wasn’t a weed after all.

‘See something.’ My Dad was behind me suddenly.

‘Dirty snow. Isn’t that where the yarrow is?” I pointed over to the clump by the maple tree.

‘So it is.’


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