I’ve been on planet Mars, writing some arrangements and checking out the deeper side of big band theory, so I’ve only just discovered that the head of the conservative Partido Popular in Orense, Galicia, is a keen trombonist. Xosé Luis Baltar recently suggested to voters that Zapatero’s lot might try to steal the Galician elections as they did the nationals, and that it might be necessary to rob a few votes in order to assure a just result:
Thereafter he made his way through street and square, playing the trombone, accompanied on bass drum by his son with candidates’ list-topper, Amparo González, on cymbals, singing songs like, “If to the PP you are not true, then fuck you.”
- The Calathumpian Band and its horse-fiddle, great trombone and gyastacutas
Slightly off-topic, but irresistible, from Henry Hiram Riley‘s pseudo-ethnography, Puddleford and its people (New York, 1854): Another amusement, frequent in the country,
- “Discretion Environment Elegance”
An illegal brothel at Girona Airport.
- Coroner plays St James’ Infirmary
Following the news about a Galician politician-trombonist, here’s a Louisianan trumpet-playing coroner: The first time Dr. Minyard ran, in 1969, he lost
- Link sink for 30/05/2009
Mid-20th century Ibero-American hits, state-controlled media, the personal and the public.
- Montilla, the Catalan Che Guevara
History recalls Wolfie Smith as the British incarnation. March mare’s nest words for Jordi Buch Oliver: sciamachy, galimathias, amphigouri. Mr Butler forwards