Wednesday, June 23, 2010 by Bob Forgione
According to the classic polka song, "In Heaven, There Is No Beer". There are, however, accordions!
Read more »Go to the Caravan Accordion Festival podcast! »
According to the classic polka song, "In Heaven, There Is No Beer". There are, however, accordions!
Read more »Go to the Caravan Accordion Festival podcast! »
This is only a test...
A few years ago, I picked up a $10 ukulele around Christmas time. After messing around with it, I set up my digital recorder and improvised a tune. I was surprised at how a little digital manipulation could make the toy uke sound decent. I decided to stick the recording on the website to see if people could click and hear it. If you do check it out, let me know if it works for you or if you have any problems. You can use the embedded audio player, or you can right-click on the "Uke Solo" link and do a "Save Target As..." and save the mp3 to your computer.
I have a much nicer uke now, but haven't gotten around to recording anything with it yet. Maybe soon.
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Uke Solo »Here's a recording I made, playing the classic surf tune "Jet Black" and inserting dialogue from the classic B-movie film noir "Gun Crazy" in place of where the drum solos would normally be:
Gun Black »Updating a Classic
In light of the happenings down in the Gulf of Texaco, I thought Hank Williams classic bayou tune needed some updating:
Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh
Me gotta go clean the oil on the bayou
Them poor birds, they look like turds, me oh my oh
Son of a gun, cleanin' to be done on the bayou.
Jabalaya and a-crawfish pie, and a-file gumbo
All our food's gonna taste like crude, don't you know-o
BP execs made our homes wrecks, and how they lie-o
Son of a gun, cleanin' to be done on the bayou.
The beach turn black, no goin' back, the place is toxic,
The whole family, and all my friends, they be so sick,
Fishin' industry is history, me oh my oh
Son of a gun, cleanin' to be done, on the bayou.
Jabalaya and a-crawfish pie, and a-file gumbo
Now our cuisine tastes like kerosene, don't you know-o
Here comes black tide, let's take a ride, maybe to Ohio
Son of a gun, our life is done, on the bayou.