odradek

Forgive me, Sire.
I am only reading now, in the half-light of my lair, the only illumination being that emanating from the monitor.
I would find that name (which in itself already bewitched me like a noir from 1947) in the credits of too many records I had liked so much. Then it also appeared on the pristine cover of the Lounge Lizards’ album.
And that record really was a unique specimen, for us nervous niuvever, nihilists and drinkers.
I went looking for something of his, a record all by Macero: I found a used vinyl, with a cover that seemed to belong to another era and a title that sounded like a riddle: "Time Plus Seven." It's the only one of Macero’s I own to this day.
I had imagined an uncommon brilliance in the man, given all the dischidellaMadonna he'd had his hands on, but I never really looked into it.
I can only thank you for this.
And that's what I do, a distracted subject of the kingdom of Capishonia. enigma:

@[gabbox] 20 years and not feeling them: I'm listening to it again today, after such a long time, and it sounds as fresh as if it just came out of the oven.
Hi. sentirli:

Well, the slammed door is the least Tristano deserves at that volume, unless she is one of those rare specimens who not only tolerate Lennie, but actually appreciate him (I've encountered 2 in about 45 years, and I am, as is well known, a lucky guy).
I think I once wrote to a DeInterlocutor, in some long-winded comment like this, that I would never dare a page on Lennie, that it was forbidden to me by my own devotion (I think I said the same about Hildegarda. But for her I asked John of Pathmos to take care of it. He did it in his own way).
It never even crossed my cabeza de cažo that you could be the one to ask: an intellettuale terrone should consider Tristano abstruse, cold, irreparably and immeasurably distant.
And yet...
See what oddities life prepares for you: professò, it had been a while since I listened to "Manhattan Studio", I just did a little while ago and now I'm reading you.
And I discover that you even have Teo Macero on your radar, that's too much!
Did we want to talk about C.? Really?
I can't do it...
Bye, and thank you.
Also on behalf of Lennie. domandare: vita:

I was passing by and saw the review of an album I had read about in Cosmopolitan, while I was waiting for my turn at the hairdresser’s.
Curious, I thought: on this site full of know-it-alls...
But, sometimes, we have to get past entrenched prejudices: this page is better than Cosmopolitan’s!
And it managed to tempt me to listen to the album. Which isn’t bad at all, but is a bit too lively for an emotionally agnostic lady like me.

P.S. @[Annette] These jests are a clumsy attempt to pay you a compliment.
Best wishes and kisses. pensato: pregiudizi:

The film is a must-see.

Always here, we come back.
I'm fighting the losing battle of tidying up my modest abode and I put on this record, which was in one of the many boxes from the last move.
It's aged waaaay better than I have, damn it.
Ciao, G.

I’m listening to “Tilt” and stopped by to reread what DeRagazzi had written about it.
I found this one, which I had missed, and now I’m looking for “The Childhood of a Leader.”
Have a good day, professor.

I hadn't read this one.
There's not even a trallallà.
It's very beautiful, true.

The Italian title, for once, is sublime.
When Mitch is on the big screen, for me, everything else is just background.
There’s an American "noir" cinema showcase from the '40s and '50s, on Sunday mornings at 10:30 at the National Cinema in Turin, a showcase that has already taken place in other cities: "L'eterna illusione."
Until February, there’s no morning mass on Sundays...

Sire, I have traversed the back of the colossal serpent of comments to deposit a timid greeting at Your feet. Always prostrated, grunting, I take my leave.