a literary confidence
There’s some music from Henry Mancini, classic title and closing themes, and as you might imagine, there’s overlap there with Mancini, and something my wily co-conspirator, Michael Stevenson, and I talked about when I was cooking up this show---actors who are called upon to sing sometimes.
Every Friday, a new playlist from Monday's broadcast of Picture This: Film Music on the Radio, WRIU, 90.3 FM
Tonight's theme is the Western, that hallowed, long past its heyday but not totally bygone (if I have anything to do with it), genre of Hollywood storytelling.
Surely, they are castaways now and although I cannot see them, I hear them chattering when I put my ear to the sea.
Scuttling on his knees now, he crossed to the other side of the boat and dropped the fish into a bucket of water. He knew what he had to do next.
To my teenage self, dizzy with wonder at the lyrics of “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” Keith Reid looked brainy and hip, which I didn’t know could be a thing, but there he was in band photographs, usually front and center, as if he was Mr. Procol Harum himself.
But tell me, did I not suffer a vision, that is to say, see something dreadful at my door?
I dream that I forget in which direction I am headed. The road splits. I panic and take an exit unknown to me. It doesn’t make any difference.
long suffering spring phrases seek a shot of poetry B-12
Number one, Fred Shaw represents: Pittsburgh, reading everything and writing narrative poetry from his own experience in the argot (lingo) of the Rust Belt restaurant worker. As he has said, “the workaday speech of line cooks and dishwashers is the signature sound."
Just Between You and Me 