Born on this day.
bluesJazzmuddy waters
Born on this day.
Behind the scenes for 60 Minutes.

Mrs. Levy was a woman of interests and ideals. Over the years she ad given herself freely to bridge, African violets, Susan and Sandra, golf, Miami, Fanny Hurst and Hemingway, correspondence courses, hairdressers, the sun, gourmet food, ballroom dancing, and, in recent years, Miss Trixie. She always had to settle for Miss Trixie at a distance, an unsatisfactory arrangement for carrying out the program outlined in the psychology correspondence course, the final examination of which she has failed resoundingly (p. 159).


This from Scientific American.
Listening again to the O2 concert it has became clearer than ever that Led Zep’s sound is of Wagnerian proportions, dragging you through the Mississippi delta up to Norse and Celtic mythology and much in between and then back down to the delta.
Here are two decent enough interviews — the first is with Jimmy “biological research” Page (what a career, what a life!); the second with the three original members. They articulate, insofar as one can, what made them so musically special, as a group that is. The mysticality of the O2 performance is almost palpable devoid of some of the tiresome pomposity that marred The Song Remains the Same some thirty years earlier.

Beloved Myrna:
I have received your offensive communication. Do you seriously think that I am interested in your tawdry encounters with such sub-humans as folk singers? In every letter of yours I seem to find some reference to the sleaziness of your personal life. Please confine yourself to discussing issues and such; thereby you will at least avoid obscenity and offense.
On the dark night of that dubious lecture, the sole member of your audience will probably be some desperately lonely old male librarian who saw a light in the window of the lecture hall and hopefully came in to escape the cold and the horrors of his personal hell. There in the hall, his stooped figure sitting alone before the podium, your nasal voice echoing among the empty chairs and hammering boredom, confusion, and sexual reference deeper and deeper into the poor wretch’s bald skull, confounded to the point of hysteria, he will doubtlessly exhibit himself, waving his crabbed organ like a club in despair against the grim sound that drones on and on over his head.
The comments upon my personal life were uncalled for and revealed a shocking lack of taste and decency.
Actually, my personal life has undergone a metamorphosis: I am currently connected in a most vital manner with the food merchandizing industry, and therefore I doubt quite seriously whether I shall have much time in the future to correspond with you.
Busily,
Ignatius
(p. 158).
Have you abandoned your project to form a political party or nominate a candidate for president by divine right? I remember that when I finally met you and challenged your political apathy, you came up with this idea. I knew that it was a reactionary project, but it at least showed that you were developing some political consciousness. Please write to me about the matter. I am very concerned. We need a three-party system in this country, and I think that day by day the fascists are growing in strength. This Divine Right Party is the sort of fringe-group scheme that would syphon off a large part of the fascist support (p. 157).
