His words wrestle and fall, lapping over each other, a rhythm and purpose and song. It was neither poetry nor music alone, but both.
He was a social activist, and acutely politically aware.
'You need to have myths,' Oscar once said. 'You need to have people who don't give a shit about caving. And that what I wanted to be - that kinda guy. I always wanted to be with the stand-up dudes.'
And so he was. He wrote about breaking rocks with the chain gang, about conformity, about the poor and the weak. Brother where are you? he sang, looking into eyes of the people who pass by.
'The first time I voted,' he said, 'I voted for me.'
He wrote more than a dozen plays, more than 1000 songs, a dozen albums, and a Broadway musical for Mohammed Ali. He met his heroes (check out those interviews, they're *amazing*).
He was a beautiful, adept performer of his own work, an actor, a social commentator, a playwright and activist. He was not one thing, but several (for a person is never just one thing). He was remixed.
Edit: In his blog, Frank says: 'You need to be careful to buy the single, not the track off the album, but you can do that by following those links, so it should be easy. One you're done, if you send a screenshot of the receipt to [email protected] we'll send you 2 exclusive b-sides for free.'
Celebrity Chimp combine monkey and banjo like you've never seen before. You can click on the extended entry bit to read their amusing bogus bio, but all you really need to know is that this punky bluegrass band is a lot of fun and a night out with them will probably leave you with a very sore head and only a vague recollection of what it was you got up to the night before.
They play regularly in London to crowds that are only getting bigger, and this monkey suggests you go and buy them a pint or three before they can't see you for all the flying fangirl knickers.
It's Jewlie's fault. She sprung this song on me WEEKS ago, and I can't shake it. I can't even close the tab it's in. Every so often I'll wander over and hit play, just to watch the accordion, the toy piano, the macaroni and cheese. It's Pomplamoose, it's fantastic, and it will make happy to your ears. (More here!)
Mornings are rubbish. For one thing, they start *early*. If mornings started in the mid-afternoon, they'd be a lot less painful (and we could all sit around in our jammies with hot chocolate for breakfast, I promise).
In the meantime, mornings are here, and keep on being here, on a continual day-to-day basis. Measures must be taken.
Enter the Hot 8 Brass Band! They're from New Orleans, they're kick-ass and they're here to give you nine minutes of unbridled joy to start your day wi... with which to start your day. Good morning, Fabulisters! Let's DANCE ourselves awake!*
*The fact that the song explicitly states 'let's make love *tonight*' has not escaped the Fabulist. However, the Fabulist is limiting its pedantry today to the use of prepositions in sentences. The Fabulist chooses to glide elegantly over such details, and is quite happily appropriating 'Sexual Healing' as a morning song, lyrics bedamned. Plus, the Fabulist is tired and bleary-eyed and writing about itself in the third-person. That's always a dangerous sign.