Godfather of Soul croakoff headlines today's Drudge. How can we forget James'
sensitive 'I Got the Feelin', lilting 'Cold Sweat' and ethereal tone poem
'Hot Pants'? Didn't he literally kick us onto dance floor like Parkinson's on
DextroHydrazine?
August, '83. Steamy. Cruising decrevalent south Providence waterfront, flat
black ex-hiway patrol car, Ken Weber built Chrysler 440, "Special Cam",
Hookers, Weiand intake, Holley Dual Pump, Imperial mufflers. Smog controls?
Right.
Dead quiet until stomped, no exhaust noise, just raw intake roar.
Cruise lovely Eddy Street, named for Uncle Phil, no doubt. "Smokestack
Lightning", black iron & rivet South Street Generating Station stack, looms
iconically above. Cassette/EQ blares James' child-rearing treatise set to
music, "Papa
Don't Take No Mess". James screams, car gurgles, friend/helo pilot Captain
Steve acts as spotter. Femal 'comfort specialists' flounce about. We make
snappy
remarks with no intentions beyond baiting & bad taste.
Street flounce trumps hi-power car & low-ball occupants.
Chicas hear Godfather's sweet strains & our commentary. Comes their witty
riposte, [EMAIL PROTECTED]&@() Detectives. Laughter erupts, throttles slap
open, wicks light,
intake roars, James segues to 'Sex Machine'.
James made it possible. Ours is a quieter albeit less lively world. In time,
all its ravages will be undone.
Dr. Zecchino
pvz
manasilence key, fl
_______________________________________________
IRCA mailing list
[email protected]
http://montreal.kotalampi.com/mailman/listinfo/irca
Opinions expressed in messages on this mailing list are those of the original
contributors and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the IRCA, its
editors, publishing staff, or officers
For more information: http://www.ircaonline.org
To Post a message: [email protected]
