Articles tagged with music:
Sometimes it’s not only the grand, overwhelming moments that make your eyes burn with grateful tears and your chest ache from stolen breath. I guess that’s what I learned this Easter in Ireland.
Even the Irish know how absolutely mad, epically weird, twisted like a candy cane in a five-year old’s mouth Wren’s Day is. They kept asking me, friends and strangers, over and over, “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
The time, it seems, has nearly arrived. To cease looking back and instead peer forward into the shining, silver mists of the future. To turn not with fear but hope toward the coming twelve months, leaving behind the joys of last year in anticipation of 2012’s glories. Until, of course, the planet blows up. Or melts down. Or does whatever funky and not entirely pleasant thing it might do, proving that the Mayans didn’t just run out of space on their calendar but actually really knew their end-of-the-world shit.
Of everything I did in Branson, the thing that may possibly stick with me the longest -not least of all because it made me question my decision-making process – was ride the Vigilante Extreme ZipRider. Like a zipline but waaaaay more intense, the Vigilante begins 200 feet in the air, and runs a half mile, during which the rider reaches speeds of 50 miles per hours. And it made me scream like a three-year old after a bad bout of peek-a-boo…
Just how rowdy are Nashville’s bars? Enough so that I actually wondered aloud to one of my hosts: “I’m not sure I’m ready for those honky tonks.” To which she replied, grinning, “Jill, I’m not sure those honky tonks are ready for you.” Read on to find out who bested who…
In which I visit Berkeley Springs and meet a traveling piano man and his piano dog and make some music and have the best first day of spring EVER.
Carnaval de Quebec is the world’s largest winter carnival. It’s also awesome enough that I hereby nominate it for inclusion on every Bucket List made by anybody anywhere from here on out. As a matter of fact, it is SO AWESOME that just one Go Pink Boots post cannot possibly describe all of its awesomeness.
His name was Henry Wallace Hampton, and he was perched front of me, his eyes squeezed tight shut, talking very fast. So fast I could barely understand, much less process his words. But I felt an odd connection to this middle-aged African-American man with the lame arm he kept tucked up against his body like how a nested bird holds its wings on a cold winter night. There were a few moments, strange and a little eerie, when he seemed to reach into me and pluck out images as if they were marbles, rolling them around in his head before he shot them back out.
A blend of country, gospel and blues, rock-a-billy, says Henry Harrison, was born in Jackson, Tenneesee. Henry’s museum there aims to preserve and promote this uniquely American sound. AND it’s got the defibrillator used on Elvis to boot.
The Mississippi Delta was shining
Like a National guitar,
I am following the river
Down the highway
Through the cradle of the civil war,
I’m going to Graceland
In Memphis Tennessee…