ALBUM REVIEW: TOKYO BLUES (HORACE SILVER QUINTET)

The espoused musings of a jazz group are not worth speaking about in rigid boundaries. If you believe in the spiritual power of nationality, then you see The TOKYO BLUES of Horace Silver combining a lot of ingredients in its kind of Miso-ChimiChurri soup soup, an intriguing predecessor to MF DOOM’s MM..Food, sort of, if you’re hungry, many folks seem to be these days, so if they have that silly apocalyptic theme running like electric current through them, don’t listen. This album is really great, a word that I think is used all too frequently, but sometimes you gotta swim in a sea of shit to get the lettuce right. The lattice work of the mind, CHERRY pie crust? may have something to do with the design. You know how Tracy Morgan and Dave Chapelle, one time or another have made light of Jewel-Encrusted or Spiritual Poop, this is no eerie coincidence that I too poop, and laugh at the American empire burning to the ground slowly and taking us down with it, I still won’t see that fucking James Cameron movie, that guy sucks. Anyways, this album, why even listen to me, just put it on and listen intently to some good ideas, if you’ll remember the last album review, there is entirely less suggestive harpooning with penises, oh electric-bassist driven records, does Bootsy and Buckethead belong in the same sentence? Anyways, the piano is really great when Horace Silver sweats like in Umbria 1976, my goodness what a performance. Hey Jake wrote a seriously poignant piece on Chinese and Race, and it raises questions about translation and implications, that ought to be addressed, it’s a high risk game, and it’s sad that people would play around with such things as atom splitting divisive issues that hush you, kind of like Colbert getting blown up in a Nuclear Explosion. I saw a crazy friend, he wanted a cigar at Little Taste of Cuba, sez to me, “I gotta find out about Guantanamo Bay over at Cuba.” We go, he picks up a U.S. 1 before he gets inside and sez, “Just like Rocafella Records, all ads.” I’m stunned, mouth agape with “Agape” for this boy, he is like Nas, but not because he doesn’t accept beats from Chris Webber, and you, good reader, should not accept such nonsense either. WHY must he continue to crush himself in competitive fields? Well, maybe he was made for TV. Listen to the Tokyo Blues!

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