quinta-feira, dezembro 04, 2003
"Turn off your mind relax and float downstream.
Litkicks has been around since July 23, 1994, and we're still here. We never had a business model, which is why we don't have to go out of business now.
The site is devoted to a few experimental literary movements that tried to uncover some deeper truths about life. In studying the life stories of the writers as well as their works, there are sometimes even more interesting truths to be revealed than are found in the works themselves. We at Literary Kicks believe in deconstructionism as long as you clean up after you're done. And we do not believe masterpieces exist, nor do we want them to. We prefer the glory of brilliant mistakes."
Once there was Louis Armstrong blowing his beautiful top in the muds of New Orleans; before him the mad musicians who had paraded on official days and broke up their Sousa marches into ragtime. Then there was swing, and Roy Eldridge, vigorous and virile, blasting the horn for everything it had in waves of power and subtlety--leaning to it with glittering eyes and a lovely smile and sending it out broadcast to rock the jazz world. Then had come Charlie Parker, a kid in his mother's woodshed in Kansas City, blowing his taped-up alto among the logs, practicing on rainy days, coming out to watch the old swinging Basie and Benny Moten band that had Hot Lips Page and the rest Charlie Parker leaving home and coming to Harlem, and meeting mad Thelonious Monk and madder Gillespie--Charlie Parker in his early days when he was flipped and walked around in a circle while playing. Somewhat younger than Lester Young, also from KC, that gloomy, saintly goof in whom the history of jazz was wrapped; for when he held his horn high and horizontal from his mouth he blew the greatest; and as his hair grew longer and he got lazier and stretched-out, his horn came down halfway; till it finally fell all the way and today as he wears his thick-soled shoes so that he can't feel the sidewalks of life his horn is held weakly against his chest, and he blows cool and easy getout phrases. Here were the children of the American bop night.
