Morrissey Central "Some Gave All." (May 9, 2020)

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Little Richard (1932-2020)

" … pre-Stones, pre-Dolls, pre-Bowie, pre-Prince … a black kid in make-up and high heels … pompador hair and screaming his head off in the name of almighty happiness … you wouldn't see this bravery in our Covid-1984 music world … Let's all go outside and clap for Little Richard. No? "

Morrissey,
9 May 2020.

 
Last edited by a moderator:

Nerak

Reverse Ferret
So people are all finally stilling in and you’re mad about it? Make up your mind, Mr. Morrissey.

Depends what country he's in. The UK has been in lockdown for 7 weeks & yesterday had state encouraged street parties for VE Day, while still being told they could only have 10 people at a funeral & couldn't sit on a park bench or the police would move them on or fine them.

It's been something of a joke.
 

E Scott

Well-Known Member
From Human Rights Watch, jackass:

China has no human rights for its citizens, all that the Covid crisis has done is that it this highlighted this fact. Killing of scientists and experts (whistleblowers) if they undermine the Chinese power only shows what a disgusting authoritarian regime it truly is.
 

BookishBoy

Well-Known Member
I saw this linked to on FB this morning, a (rather long!) post about Little Richard written by the American writer/musician Warren Zanes - some of you might enjoy it:


Little Richard’s lawyer told us to come to the Hilton in Downtown Nashville. We could set up the shoot in a room off the lobby and wait there. The artist would come down around 11am. Bring the cash in a brown paper bag and hand it over to Richard before the interview. Thirty minutes tops, the lawyer insisted, and then we’d have to stop.

After waiting a few hours, somewhere around 1pm, we finally went to the front desk and asked if we could call up to Richard’s suite on the top floor. No, a woman told us, we couldn’t. Then, as if sharing something she perhaps shouldn’t, she leaned in and said in a hushed voice that the best thing to do was let the maintenance man know what we wanted. The maintenance man? We explained that this had been set up in advance through Richard’s lawyer. “I’m just trying to help,” she said. Then she attended to a guest checking out.

The calls we then made to Richard’s lawyer went straight to voice mail. So we went looking for the maintenance man.

“You want to see Richard?” Clearly, this man was in the middle of his work day. He was on the basement level, in a windowless room and surrounded by vacuum cleaners, electrical supplies, and the like. We apologized for the interruption. We explained that the woman behind the front desk told us to seek him out. He was nodding in the affirmative before we could even finish explaining, as if to say, “Yes, of course she told you that, because that’s the process.” For a minute you had to wonder, “Is this guy also the lawyer?” Without much deliberation he got on the phone for a mostly cryptic conversation, possibly with the man who cut “Tutti Frutti.” After hanging up, he looked at us and said, “Be in the lobby at 3pm. He’ll be coming through and you can ask him yourselves.”

This looked like another long wait, but to the maintenance man’s credit, it happened almost exactly at 3pm. The elevator arrived, and, from around the corner and into the main lobby . . . Little Richard. He was in a wheelchair, pushed by a younger gentleman. In case this was the key element—and we sensed it might be—we had the brown paper bag with the cash. So, in a sun-drenched lobby in Nashville, Tennessee, the home of country music, not entirely sure how to address him, we approached the great Little Richard. “Mr. Penniman? We’re working on a PBS documentary executive produced by George Martin and . . .”

He listened, graciously. He may have noted the brown paper bag, but he certainly didn’t make it a focal point, and neither did we. The maintenance man stood by but said nothing. The young man pushing the wheelchair did the same. Little Richard, polite in hearing our case but waiting to respond until we were done, smiled a . . . a Little Richard smile. This was definitely him. We smiled back, like little Little Richards. He said he thought he remembered his lawyer mentioning this. Then he said, “I loved The Beatles.” We nodded enthusiastically, looking for any common interest that might bring us together, as if to say, “Yes! The Beatles! We like them too!” But he ignored that and got to the point. “And I certainly know they loved me.” Well, we couldn’t find common ground on that one.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sure this is a wonderful project. But, please understand, I’ve given my life to Christ. And I’ve told all those stories.” Very discreetly—if such a thing can be done discreetly--the brown paper bag was lifted a few inches higher, from waist to belly button level, an effort, no doubt, to bring it into the frame without actually counting bills in front of him. He saw it. You could see him seeing it. “I’ll ask my pastor. That’s the most I can do for you,” he told us, his eyes on the bag. “If he says I can do it, meet here tomorrow.” It felt like a yes.

We’d gone from the lawyer to the maintenance man to the pastor. It definitely seemed like progress. We packed what gear we needed to and made plans to return the next morning. There were still interviews with the Black Keys to do that day, and we had a strong sense that they weren’t going to involve their pastors in the process.

As advised, we returned the next morning. But rather than wait it out, we went straight to the maintenance man. He made a cryptic call, presumably to the man who cut “Lucille,” and said be in the lobby at 11am. The shoot was all set up, all we’d need to do was have Richard wheeled in and make the most of the thirty minutes. We positioned ourselves in the lobby. Right on time, Little Richard appeared, same wheelchair, same route, same smile.

“He said no.” He told us even before the wheelchair came to a stop. “I’m sorry, my pastor said no.” There was no tone of regret or apology, none at all. If anything, there was a strange sense of triumph. No apologies, nothing like, “I’m sorry I made you wait it out two days for nothing.” He seemed fulfilled, and, oddly enough, eager to chat. He looked directly at me, holding his gaze on me. “Don’t deny your gift.” I kind of laughed. He went on. “You make music, right? Do you play piano?” It was clear that he didn’t want an answer to these questions. Rather, he was doing a kind of reading, acting as a seer, looking into my eyes and telling me something I had to know. “You have something you need to do. You have to honor your gift.” He paused, still looking at me. “Be good to your mother. That’s important.” Then he was wheeled off. And we were left with a bag of cash and a feeling of having been played.

I scratched my head over all of this for a bit, maybe even felt a little pissed off, but not for long. This man was like others of his generation raised in the American South. Elvis, Johnny Cash, James Brown, George Jones, Jerry Lee Lewis. They all knew or know the church, sang the songs, held their mother’s hands while the preacher laid it down. And when they went into rock and roll, they knew they were leaving the sanctity of that place and all it stood for. Listen to Jerry Lee argue with Sam Phillips about “the devil’s music.” It was no small decision, for any of them, to leave that home. It troubled them. I could laugh at it all, and did at times, but only because I was so far from understanding. They say Little Richard returned to the ministry the first time after seeing Sputnik. But he would return again. And again. He went back and forth, washing the sins off before going back for more.

That bag of cash was important for reasons we didn’t understand initially. We thought Richard wanted what was inside of the brown paper. But we were just another couple white guys offering greenbacks. He definitely wanted that bag of cash to be there . . . but only so he could say no to it. It was the key prop in a story of a man who wasn’t going to walk away from the church ever again. I believe the whole thing was a bit of theater, a set up from the beginning, Little Richard’s pageant of redemption. We each had a part: the lawyer, the bag of cash, the maintenance man, the pastor, and this film crew from New York City that wanted an interview and were readying themselves to ask questions that had likely been asked enough times already. Little Richard was never going to sit for the camera. Everyone knew it but us. We played our parts perfectly.

In hindsight, I’m not sure I’ve ever been involved in a better performance. Maybe, just maybe, I was a part of one of the greatest things that ever happened in a hotel lobby. I’ve thought about it many times. But I’ve thought about it the most when I’ve drifted from my own church. And I’ve drifted a lot. More than I like to admit. But I don’t want to talk about it. Certainly not for free. And even then I’d have to ask my pastor.

Be good to your mothers. As good to them as Little Richard was to you.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
More crass ugly posts from a vile opportunist self serving ugly mind.
Little Richard wouldn't have spit on Morrissey if he and his little proudly worn racist pin were on fire.
c*** off.
 

E Scott

Well-Known Member
Moz there is no one stopping you clapping outside your current abode for the bravery of Little Richard... Go on knock yourself out.
 

Life_Is_A_Pigsty

Gear Changer
More crass ugly posts from a vile opportunist self serving ugly mind.
Little Richard wouldn't have spit on Morrissey if he and his little proudly worn racist pin were on fire.
c*** off.

Why, what has Morrissey ever said against black people?
 
C

carlislebaz

Guest
My fave piece of footage of little Richard on you tube is , Mohamed Ali 50 birthday tributes, LR is great and well worth a watch, even Ali points at LR and calls him the king...
 
A

Anon202

Guest
God he is a master at triggering little trolls like you.

And Skinny is a master at triggering you. It’s hilarious. You can’t stop quoting him. Everything you accuse him of could be levelled at you.
 

Pokey

Member
And Skinny is a master at triggering you. It’s hilarious. You can’t stop quoting him. Everything you accuse him of could be levelled at you.

Its good to remind people that he's a piece of shit that doesn't belong here. It's a Morrissey fan site. He should go rant and rave on his social media somewhere all he wants.
 
M

Moz Fan

Guest
I saw this linked to on FB this morning, a (rather long!) post about Little Richard written by the American writer/musician Warren Zanes - some of you might enjoy it:


Little Richard’s lawyer told us to come to the Hilton in Downtown Nashville. We could set up the shoot in a room off the lobby and wait there. The artist would come down around 11am. Bring the cash in a brown paper bag and hand it over to Richard before the interview. Thirty minutes tops, the lawyer insisted, and then we’d have to stop.

After waiting a few hours, somewhere around 1pm, we finally went to the front desk and asked if we could call up to Richard’s suite on the top floor. No, a woman told us, we couldn’t. Then, as if sharing something she perhaps shouldn’t, she leaned in and said in a hushed voice that the best thing to do was let the maintenance man know what we wanted. The maintenance man? We explained that this had been set up in advance through Richard’s lawyer. “I’m just trying to help,” she said. Then she attended to a guest checking out.

The calls we then made to Richard’s lawyer went straight to voice mail. So we went looking for the maintenance man.

“You want to see Richard?” Clearly, this man was in the middle of his work day. He was on the basement level, in a windowless room and surrounded by vacuum cleaners, electrical supplies, and the like. We apologized for the interruption. We explained that the woman behind the front desk told us to seek him out. He was nodding in the affirmative before we could even finish explaining, as if to say, “Yes, of course she told you that, because that’s the process.” For a minute you had to wonder, “Is this guy also the lawyer?” Without much deliberation he got on the phone for a mostly cryptic conversation, possibly with the man who cut “Tutti Frutti.” After hanging up, he looked at us and said, “Be in the lobby at 3pm. He’ll be coming through and you can ask him yourselves.”

This looked like another long wait, but to the maintenance man’s credit, it happened almost exactly at 3pm. The elevator arrived, and, from around the corner and into the main lobby . . . Little Richard. He was in a wheelchair, pushed by a younger gentleman. In case this was the key element—and we sensed it might be—we had the brown paper bag with the cash. So, in a sun-drenched lobby in Nashville, Tennessee, the home of country music, not entirely sure how to address him, we approached the great Little Richard. “Mr. Penniman? We’re working on a PBS documentary executive produced by George Martin and . . .”

He listened, graciously. He may have noted the brown paper bag, but he certainly didn’t make it a focal point, and neither did we. The maintenance man stood by but said nothing. The young man pushing the wheelchair did the same. Little Richard, polite in hearing our case but waiting to respond until we were done, smiled a . . . a Little Richard smile. This was definitely him. We smiled back, like little Little Richards. He said he thought he remembered his lawyer mentioning this. Then he said, “I loved The Beatles.” We nodded enthusiastically, looking for any common interest that might bring us together, as if to say, “Yes! The Beatles! We like them too!” But he ignored that and got to the point. “And I certainly know they loved me.” Well, we couldn’t find common ground on that one.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sure this is a wonderful project. But, please understand, I’ve given my life to Christ. And I’ve told all those stories.” Very discreetly—if such a thing can be done discreetly--the brown paper bag was lifted a few inches higher, from waist to belly button level, an effort, no doubt, to bring it into the frame without actually counting bills in front of him. He saw it. You could see him seeing it. “I’ll ask my pastor. That’s the most I can do for you,” he told us, his eyes on the bag. “If he says I can do it, meet here tomorrow.” It felt like a yes.

We’d gone from the lawyer to the maintenance man to the pastor. It definitely seemed like progress. We packed what gear we needed to and made plans to return the next morning. There were still interviews with the Black Keys to do that day, and we had a strong sense that they weren’t going to involve their pastors in the process.

As advised, we returned the next morning. But rather than wait it out, we went straight to the maintenance man. He made a cryptic call, presumably to the man who cut “Lucille,” and said be in the lobby at 11am. The shoot was all set up, all we’d need to do was have Richard wheeled in and make the most of the thirty minutes. We positioned ourselves in the lobby. Right on time, Little Richard appeared, same wheelchair, same route, same smile.

“He said no.” He told us even before the wheelchair came to a stop. “I’m sorry, my pastor said no.” There was no tone of regret or apology, none at all. If anything, there was a strange sense of triumph. No apologies, nothing like, “I’m sorry I made you wait it out two days for nothing.” He seemed fulfilled, and, oddly enough, eager to chat. He looked directly at me, holding his gaze on me. “Don’t deny your gift.” I kind of laughed. He went on. “You make music, right? Do you play piano?” It was clear that he didn’t want an answer to these questions. Rather, he was doing a kind of reading, acting as a seer, looking into my eyes and telling me something I had to know. “You have something you need to do. You have to honor your gift.” He paused, still looking at me. “Be good to your mother. That’s important.” Then he was wheeled off. And we were left with a bag of cash and a feeling of having been played.

I scratched my head over all of this for a bit, maybe even felt a little pissed off, but not for long. This man was like others of his generation raised in the American South. Elvis, Johnny Cash, James Brown, George Jones, Jerry Lee Lewis. They all knew or know the church, sang the songs, held their mother’s hands while the preacher laid it down. And when they went into rock and roll, they knew they were leaving the sanctity of that place and all it stood for. Listen to Jerry Lee argue with Sam Phillips about “the devil’s music.” It was no small decision, for any of them, to leave that home. It troubled them. I could laugh at it all, and did at times, but only because I was so far from understanding. They say Little Richard returned to the ministry the first time after seeing Sputnik. But he would return again. And again. He went back and forth, washing the sins off before going back for more.

That bag of cash was important for reasons we didn’t understand initially. We thought Richard wanted what was inside of the brown paper. But we were just another couple white guys offering greenbacks. He definitely wanted that bag of cash to be there . . . but only so he could say no to it. It was the key prop in a story of a man who wasn’t going to walk away from the church ever again. I believe the whole thing was a bit of theater, a set up from the beginning, Little Richard’s pageant of redemption. We each had a part: the lawyer, the bag of cash, the maintenance man, the pastor, and this film crew from New York City that wanted an interview and were readying themselves to ask questions that had likely been asked enough times already. Little Richard was never going to sit for the camera. Everyone knew it but us. We played our parts perfectly.

In hindsight, I’m not sure I’ve ever been involved in a better performance. Maybe, just maybe, I was a part of one of the greatest things that ever happened in a hotel lobby. I’ve thought about it many times. But I’ve thought about it the most when I’ve drifted from my own church. And I’ve drifted a lot. More than I like to admit. But I don’t want to talk about it. Certainly not for free. And even then I’d have to ask my pastor.

Be good to your mothers. As good to them as Little Richard was to you.
I loved it. Thank you.
 
C

Carlislelbaz

Guest
I, myself now is playing Little Richard , a quiet tribute to someone who my father introduced me to, as he was a 50s teddyboy, quiff n all (his hair lasted longer than mine) This man was and still is a Great.... along with Elvis, Frank Sinatra, A complete showman, with...... one of those voices.........LR , in the world of rock and roll you shall never die......
 

david ingemarsson

Active Member
loved this post by moz

im a nurse working in intensive care with covid patients most days

and im SO fed up with this bloody NHS hand clapping
 

rifke

bodhisattva
David bowie was a big little Richard fan. Iman bought him a LR jacket one year for his birthday
 

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