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Sunday was Pioneer Day. It usually goes completely unnoticed by me, but I decided to post something in honor of it today. It’s a little late, but late is better than never.
Doves and Serpents put up a post about the hymn Come, Come Ye Saints. The authors of the blog posted their favorite versions of the hymn. That’s how I discovered this version by David Johansen and Brian Koonin of the New York Dolls. Apparently the bassist from the New York Dolls, Arthur “Killer” Kane, joined the LDS church in 1989. Someone made a documentary called New York Doll about him reuniting with the band. I haven’t seen it, but it looks fascinating. Arthur Kane died of cancer on July 13, 2004 and his band mates did a version of this song as a tribute to him. Anyway, I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!
Here’s an oldie but a goody that my husband recorded for his upcoming album, Patrick Sings his Innermost Feelings. He originally recorded it when my stepson was 8. It’s a song about a boy and a dog. It’s so sad that it brought a tear to my eye…twice.
My mother says that when I was a toddler every time I got sick I’d lie in bed and ask for cheese. After about a day of eating only cheese I’d be just fine. I guess that’s why cheese holds a special place in my heart. I’m especially found of unpasteurized cheeses. My favorites these days are gruyere and some other French cheese that I don’t remember the name of. It smells kind of like old crusty feet, but it tastes really nice.
My husband is big into soft cheeses, but I don’t like those at all. I especially hate brie and reblochon. I’ve never liked brie and I got sick after eating some reblochon once. Okay, the reblochon in question had been open in the refrigerator longer than it should have been, and if I’m completely honest I have to admit that it did look a bit suspect. But, what is cheese exactly? It’s bad milk. If it’s already gone bad how can it go bad any more. That was my theory at least. Sadly, my theory was proven wrong when I promptly brought up the contents of my stomach after eating a piece of slightly questionable reblochon.
The point of all of this is that my husband wrote a song about cheese for his upcoming album. Here it is.
My husband just keeps turning out the songs. He corrected me about the name of his latest album project. It will be called Patrick Sings His Innermost Feelings. That’s a much better title, don’t you think? Anyway, here’s another song.
Okay, I admit it. I’ve been completely ignoring The Mooch this week. Don’t take it personally. Sometimes you just need some space. I promise it’s not you, it’s me.
Anyway, I thought use some music to let you know that you’re still important to me. Here’s a nice little song my husband wrote. The song has nothing to do with you and me really, but it is about food and nothing brings people together like food. It’s called Jello.
In case you didn’t know Utah has the highest Jello consumption rate in the United States. Also, in case you’re English and don’t know, Jello is what Americans call jelly. Enjoy!
Note: My husband read this post and said this.
My Husband: You know, the rest of the world calls it jelly.
Me:Rolling my eyes.
My Husband:Sorry to insult your Americanisms, but it’s true.
Me:(Under my breath) Well, excuse my Americanisms then.
I made another music video for a friend’s song. The recording of this video featured a lot of disagreements about which camera to use to record scenes and how many retakes needed to be recorded. That’s what happens when you have a really opinionated cameraman.
Anyway, we recorded this last month at The Devil’s Chimney on the Isle of Wight. It was cold, the ground was wet, and I’m sure I stepped on some slugs in my bare feet. Sometimes you have to suffer for your art.
The song is by Johnny Vanderlip. You can buy his CD, Phresh Produce, here.