#Jack Anglin

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Country to City: some of the Grand Ole Opry troupe outside the Palace Theatre, November 2, 1955. From left to right: Irving Berger, manager of the Palace; Roy Acuff; Ruby Wells; Kitty Wells; Johnnie Wright; and Jack Anglin.

Photo: John Lent for the AP

[affansoanglin12]

Affanso Anglin As Sledge

[guessimdumb]

Kitty Wells and Red Foley - One by One (1954)

A classic country duet

My plans and hopes have tumbled down

[1264doghouse]

Kitty Wells, Johnny Wright & Jack Anglin

[adamwatchesmovies]

Escape from Alcatraz (1979)

From The Shawshank Redemption to The Great Escape, stories of innocent or righteous people scratching together the means to regain their freedom is both captivating and emotional. Unlike most films, Escape from Alcatraz doesn’t “cheat” by giving us a softie of a protagonist. Without a doubt, the people in this film deserve to be jailed. Ultimately, you don't care because of the ingenuity in their plan and the fact that it’s based on a real-life story. Tense all the way through and with a terrific ending, it’s one of the best prison escape films.

In early 1960, Frank Morris (Clint Eastwood) is sentenced to the maximum security prison on Alcatraz Island. Having escaped capture many times, Frank is undeterred by the exceedingly high security measures and strict warden (Patrick McGoohan) who assures him no one’s ever made it out.

Alcatraz isn’t merely a prison; it’s a hell hole. While there are some who certainly deserve everything the guards and warden throw at the inmates, such as a rapist called Wolf (Bruce M. Fischer), many of the prisoners are sympathetic; victims of an unfair system (Paul Benjamin is serving dual life sentences for killing two white men in self-defence) or clearly reformed by the time we meet them. Alcatraz doesn’t see it that way. The objective is not to rehabilitate. It’s to make lives miserable. In fact, the warden makes a point to punish those he oversees based on how he feels about them rather than the way the justice system sees them. He’s not a cartoon but his smugness means he deserves to be knocked down a peg. That’s where Morris comes in. The odds are stacked against our protagonist. It’ll take inhuman levels of ingenuity to escape from the prison. Some of his tactics are so wild, it’ll make you feel like a moron. You think the operation will be as simple as Morris, his accomplices John and Clarence Anglin (Fred Ward and Jack Thibeau) and the fourth conspirator, Charley Butts (Larry Hankin) stealing a power tool to break through the bars at night but no. They’re going to have to MAKE the tools they need - out of nothing.

The space the escapees have to maneuver in is so tight, you’re constantly wondering what will go wrong. Clever as it might be, their plan is literally put together with bits of loose paper, paint, and mud. It just barely crosses the line into doable and the tiniest detail out of place will make the whole thing fall apart. While there might not be anything that prevents them from trying again should they fail, so much effort is being put into this attempt you can’t bear the idea of it failing. You want to see the phases work just so you can see what to see what comes next.

It’s probably better that you don’t know beforehand what actually happened on the night of June 11, 1962. The FBI’s position on the events are clear and unfortunately, they don’t make for a cinematic ending. This is where the film proves to be as ingenious as its protagonist. It’s a terrific final note.

Escape from Alcatraz deftly maneuvers over the obstacles it might’ve faced to deliver wall-to-wall thrills. Against all odds, you like the characters. You like them even more when you see what kind of plan they’ve got cooked up and you can’t wait to see it executed. It's one of these stories that's so wild it HAS to be true, which makes it a real nail-biter. (March 27, 2020)

[lepartidelamort]

Jack Smith Shuts Down Anti-Trump Cases After Election Win.

Other than the fact that Trump could never be permitted to win the presidency without being a total Jewish shill, Trump was also dealing with the fact that if he didn’t win, he was going to prison.

Now, the whole legal nightmare is over for him. Of course, if he doesn’t do what the Jews want him to do in regards to his commitments to Israel, these charges will all suddenly start stacking up again.

New York Times:

A judge on Friday granted a request from the special counsel, Jack Smith, to pause all filing deadlines in the federal case accusing President-elect Donald J. Trump of plotting to overturn the 2020 election. Mr. Smith asked earlier in the day to freeze the case for nearly a month as prosecutors mull whether to pursue the proceeding at all now that Mr. Trump is returning to the White House. Judge Tanya S. Chutkan of Federal District Court in Washington quickly granted Mr. Smith’s request. The defendant, Mr. Smith’s filing said, “is expected to be certified as president-elect on Jan. 6, 2025, and inaugurated on Jan. 20, 2025.” “The government respectfully requests that the court vacate the remaining deadlines in the pretrial schedule,” Mr. Smith’s deputies went on, “to afford the government time to assess this unprecedented circumstance and determine the appropriate course going forward consistent with Department of Justice policy.” The prosecutors asked for a new deadline — Dec. 2 — for the government to file “a status report or otherwise inform the court of the result of its deliberations.” A longstanding Justice Department policy bars the prosecution of sitting presidents. Mr. Smith has already opened discussions with department leaders about how best to wind down both the election interference case and the other federal case he pursued against Mr. Trump — the one in Florida in which he was accused of illegally holding on to classified documents after he left office. The request to pause the case in Washington was the first overt sign that Mr. Smith and his team are in the throes of figuring out how to shut down the two prosecutions.

I’m sure it was fun while it lasted, Jack.

No regrets.

Andrew Anglin for the DailyStormer

[dustinreidmusic]

Bob Dylan - February 9, 2002 ~ Atlanta, GA ~ Soundboard

Setlist:

I Am The Man, Thomas (acoustic)

My Back Pages (acoustic) (Bob on harp and Larry on fiddle)

It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) (acoustic) (Larry on cittern)

Searching For A Soldier's Grave (acoustic)(Bob on harp) (song by Johnnie Wright, Jim Anglin and Jack Anglin)

Lonesome Day Blues

Lay, Lady, Lay (Larry on pedal steel)

Floater

High Water (For Charley Patton) (Larry on banjo)

It Ain't Me, Babe (acoustic) (Bob on harp)

Masters Of War (acoustic)

Tangled Up In Blue (acoustic) (Bob on harp)

Summer Days (Tony on standup bass)

Sugar Baby (Tony on standup bass)

Drifter's Escape (Bob on harp)

Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (Larry on steel guitar)(1st encore)

Things Have Changed

Like A Rolling Stone

Forever Young (acoustic) (Bob on harp)

Honest With Me

Blowin' In The Wind (acoustic) (Bob on harp)(2nd encore)

All Along The Watchtower

Concert # 1390 of The Never-Ending Tour. Concert # 7 of the 2002 US Winter Tour. 2002 concert # 7.

Concert # 7 with the 13th Never-Ending Tour Band: Bob Dylan (vocal & guitar), Charlie Sexton (guitar), Larry Campbell (guitar, mandolin, pedal steel guitar & electric slide guitar), Tony Garnier (bass), George Recile (drums & percussion).

1–4, 9–11, 18, 20 acoustic with the band.

4, 9, 11, 14, 18, 20 Bob Dylan (harmonica).

2 Larry Campbell (fiddle).

3 Larry Campbell (bouzouki).

1, 4, 18, 20 Larry Campbell & Charlie Sexton (backup vocals).

[rockincountryblues]

Johnnie & Jack (Jack Anglin on left and Johnnie Wright on right) 1957

[justfilms]

Scanners - David Cronenberg 1981

[thiswasinevitableid]

#56, OT4, NSFW if possible. Thank you for providing Winter-y cheer for us all!

You’re welcome! And this is indeed NSFW

56. my little sibling/cousin makes me sit on santa’s lap and when santa asks me what I want for christmas, I blurt “someone to love” and you’re the cute elf that overhears (or I blurt ….[insert here]) 

He’s exhausted, but he promised he’d take his cousins to see Santa after work while his aunt does some shopping. As is traditional, half the Newton family is already in town, even though it’s three and a half weeks until Christmas. 

Dove and Robin each take their turns, and then insist in that terrifyingly forceful way of six year olds that Duck do so as well. Given he nearly blew it last year when they asked him if Santa was real, he decides he should play along. At least he changed out of his work uniform first so fewer of the other mall employees will recognize him as a twenty-three year old man sitting on Santa’s lap.

“And what would you like for Christmas, young man?”

“Ned, please, make this easy” he hisses at the man playing Santa. 

“Well, then, answer the question dear boy.”

“I, uh, I really want…”

He can’t lie and say something bland, and the only thing he’s really hoping for this winter is-

“I want to get laid.”

He regrets the words and all of his life choices as Ned booms out a laugh. His cousins are too busy studying the toys strewn about the room to hear, so he counts that as his luck for the day, takes their hands, and hurries off into the mall.

------------------------------------

“He really said that?” Barclay looks back at Stern as he restocks cookbooks.

“Yes. I was photo elf today so he didn’t see me cracking up.”

“Don’t know why they hide their cutest elf away like that.”

“Because I’m tall.” 

Barclay turns, glances around to be sure no one is watching, and kisses his cheek. 

“Nah, you’re perfect.”

He blushes; even after nine months of dating, Barclay has a way of acting as if he’s in a perpetual state of falling for him. 

“What did the guy look like?”

“On the shorter side, and his eyes where two different colors. Works at R.E.I.” It’s his best attempt to protect Duck’s dignity.

A conspiratorial smile crosses his boyfriends face, “Keep an eye out for my manager for a sec, babe?”

“Of course. What are you doing?”

“Matchmaking. I hope.”

-------------------------------------

Duck’s on duty in the tent and sleeping bag area when Indrid Cold appears. Indrid works at the tattoo shop across the way, and has a habit of taking lunch the same time Duck does, sitting on a metal bench and trying to draw. The mall gets crowded and loud around then, and two months ago Duck started sneaking him into a back corner of the store so he can have lunch in peace. Indrid, a few years his senior, with his tongue piercing and tattoos, the ratty black pants and various tank-tops that show off a skinny frame Duck would love to get his hands on, is the kind of guy Duck would’ve had a crush on.

Now, Indrid is the kind of guy who makes him so hard he does embarrassing-ass things like say “I need to get laid” in front of his cousins.

Indrid leans his shoulder on the wall, grinning, red glasses making him resemble the mothman tattoo on his right arm. 

“Howdy, sir, got questions about the tents?” Duck smirks. 

“Indeed. Which one is best for sex?”

Duck barks out a laugh, claps a hand over his mouth when a nearby shopper gives him a funny look. 

“Any that ain’t a one-person deal. That your way of tellin me you got a hot date tonight?”

“I might” Indrid peers of the rims of his glasses, “a little bird told me you had a rather, ah, explicit Christmas wish.”

“Aw fuck, who even heard me othern’n Ned?” 

“I suspect it was Joseph. Poor man is stuck being an elf, and it was Barclay who texted me the hint.”

“Ughhhhwait-” Duck stares at him, “you came over here to ask me if, uh, if I wanted to, uh-”

“Yes. Oh dear, was my innuendo unclear? Or was it not even an innuendo?”

Duck has him against the wall in two steps, not touching him but bringing his mouth up to growl in his ear

“Your place, sugar?”

“I get off at seven.”

“Won’t be the only time you get off, I gauran-goddamn-tee it.”

----------------------------------

Indrid’s grip is flatteringly eager as he pins Duck to the door of his trailer.

“Damn, sugar, didn’t know you wanted me that badAhnnnnnohfuckyeah.” He rolls his hips as Indrid yanks his collar down to set hickeys in his skin.

“I have though you were attractive from the moment I saw you, and have wanted to fuck you since that time you made yourself laugh so hard you nearly snorted soda out of your nose.”

“Kinky.” 

“I meant” Indrid grabs and shoves and guides him across the floor, “that the moment I saw that smile I wanted to see what other smiles I could draw from you.” The kiss is a counterpoint the heated touches, so gentle and sincere Duck changes course.

“Fuck it” he hops up onto the kitchen table, discarded illustrations crunching under him, “I can’t wait anymore, you’re so fuckin cute, all fuckin romantic and shit.” He pulls him down into another kiss, groans as clever fingers undo his pants. Duck shifts as Indrid gets them mostly down, refusing to break the kiss all the while. The wire of the taller man’s glasses bumps his skin, and he finally gives in, pulling away so he can guide them off Indrid’s face. 

“I’d very much like to touch.” Indrid’s fingers are tense, poised on Duck’s thighs. He looks shyer without the glasses, almost virginal, which is fucking remarkable for a guy who came onto him in broad daylight. 

“Touch whatever you like, sugar, long as you let me do it back.”

“Gladly. I, ah, that is, should I stay on the outside?” 

He thinks, trying to sty a step ahead of his own brain to see if this is a day where penetration might set it off. 

“This time, yeah.” Duck hooks his legs round Indrids, keeping them close. 

“Does...that mean there might be a next time?” Indrid is gnawing his chapped bottom lip.

Duck waits for him to meet his eyes, then nods so Indrid can know what comes next is pure teasing. 

“Depends on how well you doOHfuck, ‘Drid, that’s it sugar, c’mon, jack me off.” He grinds his hips, Indrid experimenting with different movements, grinning every time Duck moans. 

“Touch me, please, Duck, I want you, want you so much.”

It takes a few seconds of fumbling and two muttered “fucks” before he gets Indrid’s pants undone enough to get his hand around his cock. A tattoo peeks out over either hip, and Duck decides his new plan for the winter is to discover every inch of Indrid’s skin with his mouth and hands. 

There’s a whine as Indrid buries his face into Duck’s shoulder, working him harder as Duck’s fingers go slick with pre-cum. 

“I, I am not going to last very long, wanted this too long, too much”

“Then cum for me, sugar.” He picks up the pace and in four strokes discovers Indrid isn’t kidding, the silver-haired man cumming down his hand. 

“D-don’t stop, don’t stop until I’ve made you cum. AH, ahnnnyes, yes” Indrid squirms with a delighted smile.

“You like that? Knowin I’m gonna wring you dry unless you get me off?” 

“Yes!”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin needy, you’ll even take me bein rough just so you can fuck me.” He gives up on being gentle, moans when this makes Indrid find just the right pressure and speed. When he cums he let’s go of his cock, uses both hands to drag Indrid into a kiss and feels him shuddering with pleased little sounds. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He slumps back on his elbows as Indrid drops into a chair, forehead resting on the table “shoulda opened my big mouth in front of Joe sooner.”

“Mmmhmm” Indrid bumps his arm with his nose. Then he cracks his eyes open, the shyness back full-force, “if, ah, if you need to get home I understand but, ah, I was wondering if you’d like to stay awhile?”

“Told my folks I’d be out late. You anglin to cuddle and steal my body heat?”

“Maybe.” A kiss to his arm now, Indrid gazing at him adoringly. 

“Then I’m gonna snuggle the hell out of you.”

Soon they’re nestled under the covers of Indrid’s bed, watching the Repair Shop and talking, Duck’s head on Indrid’s chest. 

“Kinda funny that our exes set us up, ain’t it?”

“You consider Joseph an ex?”

“Kinda? Sounds better than “friend I fucked a few times Freshman year of college.”

“True. I must admit, the thought does make me wish I’d been a fly on the wall.” Indrid freezes as soon as the sentence hits the air, “ah, that’s, I apologize, that just sort of came out.”

“No harm done.” Duck kisses the top of his head, ignoring the ideas conjured up by the admission. Why stick to Indrid watching when he could be involved? And he bets Indrid goes full-on tease with Barclay, something he’d love to see, and there is definitely a recurring fantasy of fucking Joe from behind while someone else came down his throat….

Later. He can think about those things later. Right now, he’s utterly content and happy to focus on the lilting voice rambling about art restoration and the bony hand holding his own. 

------------------------------------------

A side benefit of Duck and Indrid getting together is that they can now go on double-dates with himself and Barclay. Or, as Joseph is starting to call them “put all three men he’s attracted to in a room to see if he cracks” dates. He honestly didn’t mean for it to become that, but the more time they all spend together, the less he can deny the wish that it was just one, four-person date. 

His feelings for Barclay are self-explanatory; he’s his boyfriend of nearly a year who, among other things, treats eating him out as something akin to a religious experience. Indrid, he now understands, plays at his long-running interest in the strange and unusual. The fact his intriguing exterior hides someone a little awkward and very well meaning makes it all the better.

And then there’s Duck. They’d hooked-up a few times in college, when Joseph was newly out as trans, and being with someone who wasn’t weird about it had been the icing on the beefcake (a phrase he used once and made Duck laugh and fall off the bed). Duck has only gotten better with age and, looking at his strong arms and rounded face, the ass he wants to sink his fingers into, Joseph understands that the awe he felt whenever Duck was naked wasn't solely to do with the newness of the act. If ever there was a body to be worshiped, it’s Duck’s.

So, yeah, he’s had a lot to think about while listening to parents art director their children for their picture with Santa. 

Tonights “double date” is a little odd. He and Barclay are each getting a small tattoo (not matching, he’s too sure that’s a way to jinx things) courtesy of Indrid, with Duck tagging along so they can all go to dinner after. Barclay is the last client of the day, and Indrid’s boss locked the four of them in with a reminder to Indrid to arm the alarm when he leaves. Duck flips through magazines as Joseph reads off Buzzfeed Unsolved conspiracy theories for his entertainment. 

“You should do one of those shows. You got that whole nerdy but stylish thing going for you.”

“Duck, my work uniform is an elf costume.”

“But the rest of the time you look like Special Agent Cooper.”

He blushes, “Special Intern Stern is more like it.”

“You’re gettin there, city mouse.”

He looks up at the old pet name, just in time to see Duck throw an Adbusters up as cover and start talking about the image he’s staring out. Joseph lets him. For now. 

--------------------------------------

“There. A safely wrapped present to yourself.” Indrid double-checks the bandage on Barclay’s upper arm. 

“Thanks, man. Can’t wait to see what it looks like all healed. Sure it’s gonna look fucking great.” Barclay still sounds a little shaky from the adrenaline. 

Indrid allows himself a burst of pride that his friend thinks so highly of his work, “I just need to clean up and then we can be on our way.”

Barclay gives an affirmative grunt, staying in his chair. There’s a spike of fear in Indrid’s stomach; did he do something wrong? Is Barclay about to pass out?

Circling the chair to check replaces the fear with pure, skin-prickling lust. 

“My, my, is this why you’ve waited so long to get a tattoo?” 

Barclay whines, shaking his head, his eyes shut and his cock pitching an obscene tent in his jeans. 

“Are you lying?”

“N-no. I, uh, I mean I like pain, but I didn’t think this would happen.”

“That’s a new development.” Indrid leans against his workbench, enjoying the view. 

“Joseph and I have been trying out a bunch of things, figuring out what we like.”

“How very methodical. And unfortunate; if memory serves, once you get wound up it takes time for you to unwind.”

“Indrid please” Barclay’s gritting his teeth. Indrid’s remembering just how fun it is to have such a big man wrapped around his finger. 

“Please what?” He cocks his head.

“I, fuck, I dunno, talk about weird morbid shit. Disasters. Anything that will make it go down.”

A sinful image enters his mind, unshakeable in it’s appeal. 

“I can do you one better. Joseph? Would you come here? I need your help.”

Barclay’s eyes snap open, Indrid grinning at the excitement in them. 

“Is everything alright?” Joseph steps through the door, Duck poking his head in worriedly after him. 

Indrid points to Barclays cock, “I have to clean up, and that needs to be seen to.”

“And you want me to, um, see to it with you two in the room?”

“Only if you are both comfortable-”

“Yes” Barclay and Joseph say it at the same time, the dark haired man crossing the floor and dropping to his knees in front of his boyfriend.

“Should I, uh?” Duck glances between the three. So polite, even when Indrid can see the flush spreading up his skin from here. 

“Please stay.” Joseph is panting, in spite of only now getting Barclay’s zipper down. 

“Barclay?”

“Fine by me, man. Long as you know I’m gonna fuck your boyfriend into the floor for fucking with me like this.”

“That I’d like to see.” Duck shuts the door, grabbing Indrid’s chair so he can sit.

“There is one caveat, sweetheart; you are not allowed to cum right now. I promise I’ll show you new ways of being rough with me if you do.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sugar.”

“No fucking kidding, maybe you should get to fuck him before me since he’s being so meEEan, fuck, yes babe, goddamn I love your mouth.” Barclay arches in the chair as Joseph sucks him off. Indrid’s own cock perks up at the sight, becomes insistent as he turns his back and cleans to the sound of Barclay growling profanity in time with the wet sound of his cock defiling Joseph’s throat. 

He gets things cleaned and in order as fast as his rapidly dwindling focus will let him, turns back to see Barclay whimpering as Joseph kisses and licks along his shaft. Duck is still seated, rubbing his thighs together as he watches them, hands digging into the faux-leather seat. Indrid supposes he should scold him for stimulating himself, but he looks so very handsome right now.

Instead, he strides over to the pair in his client seat and fists his hand into Josephs hair, gelled strands breaking free in his fingers as he guides his mouth back over Barclay’s thick cockhead.

“We do not have all night, pet. So get to it Snap twice if it needs to stop.” He pushes him down by his hair until Barclay’s pressing the back of his throat, then yanks him almost all the way up. Joseph moans steadily, blue eyes darting between him and Barclay beneath black lashes as Indrid forces him up and down. 

“Fuck, babe, you look so fucking good on your knees, taking my cock like a good boy.”

“Ahem.” Indrid manages to look stern. Barclay is just able to tilt his head up enough for Indrid to dip down and kiss his full lips.

“Thank you, baby, thank you for letting me get offAHshitshit.”

“Close, dearest?”

“Uhuh, socloseohfuck”

“Do you want to cum down his throat?”

“So bad, Indrid, please.”

“You heard him, pet.” He holds Joseph’s head down, pre-cum thoroughly staining his pants as Barclay jerks up and Joseph frantically gulps him down. He brings his head up without warning, gathering the stray droplets of cum from his lips and fucking them into his mouth with his fingers.

“Good boy.” He purrs and Joseph whimpers happily. 

He looks at Duck, and for a moment he’s terrified he went too far, ignored him for too long. His boyfriend’s eyes are wide and dark, locked onto where Joseph is still eagerly sucking his fingers. Slowly, his gaze drags up to Indrid, crooked smile blossoming as it does. 

“Indrid Cold, you’re a fuckin genius, and I am gonna fuck you into next week.”

---------------------------------

It’s not next week, but it is ten at night and Indrid is being fucked well into it. 

They’re at Joseph’s apartment, his lack of roommates giving them optimal privacy, and Indrid is on his back on the tidily made bed. Barclay fucks him hard, grunting out thank yous for the privilege, which Indrid would reward with praise were his mouth not currently occupied with Duck riding his face. Joseph is near his head as well, having cum earlier via Barclay’s tongue (“this one of the best goddamn things in the world and I’m gonna show you two how to do it right”) and now rapturously groping Duck. Indrid can’t quite hear all the praise he’s directing at Duck’s body, but he’s going to hazard a guess he agrees with the statements.

“Can, fuck, can one of you make him cum? Wanna feel this demanding little ass tighten.”

“On it.” Joseph grips his cock and oh, no wonder Barclay looks so blissful most days. The man gives masterful handjobs and Indrid cums hard, whimpering when neither Duck nor Barclay lets up. The base of Barclay’s cock thuds against his ass so hard he’s wondering if that part of him can bruise, and Joseph switches his attention to Indrid’s nipple piercings, toying with him just like Duck demonstrated, Indrid squeaking as he sucks Duck’s dick. 

There’s a groan as Barclay cums, working himself through it in Indrid’s increasingly sensitive ass while Duck cums on his face, petting his hair as his hips jerk. 

When he’s finally able to sit up, it’s to a portrait of tender debauchery. Barclays head is on his stomach, his beard and hair a royal mess that Joseph is gently stroking down to some semblance of order. Duck is snuggled up beside him, kissing his shoulders and holding Indrid’s hand. 

“That was, um, something.” Joseph murmurs. 

“A whole hell of a lot of somethin.” Duck opens his free arm so Indrid can nestle against him, Barclay shifting to put his head onto Joseph's thigh. 

“Is it...something we wish to happen again?” Indrid’s nerves creep back up.

“Hell yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Thank goodness. I. Ah. I am realizing I am fond of all three of you and, ah, very attracted to all three of you as well.”

“We should lay out some ground rules, right?” 

Barclay’s stomach growls, “For sure, babe. But can we please get dinner while we do? I’m gonna start eating the strap on. 

“You better not, that one was expensive.”

They clean up themselves and the room, frequent kisses prolonging the process. As Barclay orders pizza and Indrid starts water for tea, Joseph loops an arm around Duck’s shoulders.

“We should get you to blurt out Christmas wishes more often.”

“You got a deal. Just, next time, not in front of Ned.”

[ch-dld-bft-brit-omm]

May 3, 1952: Kitty Wells recorded "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels". The song was an answer to Hank Thompson's "The Wild Side of Life", and its lyrical treatment of seductive, wayward women. It became the first #1 Billboard country hit for a solo female artist. Wells was at first reluctant to record the song, but eventually agreed, if only to get the standard $125 session fee payment. Eventually, "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky-Tonk Angels" outsold Thompson's "The Wild Side of Life," and launched the then little-known Wells to stardom. Years later, Wells told an interviewer she was shocked over the song's success and endurance. "Women never had hit records in those days. Very few of them even recorded. I couldn't believe it happened," she said. The song was recorded at Owen Bradley’s studio and featured Wells’ husband Johnnie Wright on bass guitar and Jack Anglin on rhythm guitar. Paul Warren played fiddle and Shot Jackson played steel guitar.

via Honky Tonk History Forum

[exquisite-grandeur]

Still pining for someone, who will never come back I know that's old, but I can't tell my heart that...

Hank Williams Sr. - I Can’t Tell My Heart That, lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Songwriters: Jack Anglin / Jim Anglin / Johnnie Wright

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Bob Dylan - Madison Square Garden, New York City, New York, November 19, 2001

Like it was for many others, Love and Theft was an essential listen for me during the weird/terrible fall of 2001 (the other new records I remember playing constantly were Gillian Welch’s Time (The Revelator), Bjork’s Vespertine and the Pernice Brothers’ The World Won’t End). Have we woken up from the collective nightmare that began back then? Doesn’t seem like it, really. But at least there’s music, right?  

Inevitably, the songs at this Madison Square Garden show -- Bob’s first NYC appearance since the events of 9/11 -- have an added resonance and weight to them. It’s an emotionally charged performance, to be sure. There’s no way that singing “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” or “High Water (For Charley Patton)” so close to the World Trade Center couldn’t feel powerfully relevant during this period. The two country/gospel numbers played are also poignant -- “Wait For Light To Shine” is rousing and hopeful, while “Searching For A Soldier’s Grave” meditates on “all the Americans who died, true and brave.” The latter tune gets an appropriate counterpoint, however, in a devastatingly rendered “John Brown,” which warns against gleeful militarism (listen to the way Dylan delivers the lines “I could see that his face was just like mine” towards the end). 

There’s plenty of good humor, though -- “Summer Days” is a roller coaster ride, Dylan chewing the scenery shamelessly while his band swings and soars. “Honest With Me” is a swaggering delight. And “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” earns its ovation with a passionate performance, especially on those concluding lines. Dylan’s vocals dominate, sounding positively Howlin Wolf-ish at many points; he’s remarkably focused throughout the show’s almost two-and-a-half hours. And don’t miss the extraordinary harmonica solo that comes at the end of “Just Like A Woman.” All in all, this is a fantastic show -- don’t you dare miss it. 

Choice Cut: Like its studio counterpart, “High Water (For Charley Patton)” is anchored by Larry Campbell’s sturdy banjo, but the band expands and stretches out a bit, giving Bob room to dig deep. 

Bob Dylan (vocal, harmonica & guitar), Charlie Sexton (guitar), Larry Campbell (guitar, banjo mandolin, pedal steel guitar & electric slide guitar), Tony Garnier (bass), David Kemper (drums & percussion)

1. Wait For The Light To Shine (Fred Rose) 2. It Ain't Me, Babe 3. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall 4. Searching For A Soldier's Grave (Johnnie Wright, Jim Anglin, Jack Anglin) 5. Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum 6. Just Like A Woman 7. Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues 8. Lonesome Day Blues 9. High Water (For Charley Patton) 10. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right 11. Tangled Up In Blue 12. John Brown 13. Summer Days 14. Sugar Baby 15. Drifter's Escape 16. Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 17. Things Have Changed 18. Like A Rolling Stone 19. Forever Young 20. Honest With Me 21. Blowin' In The Wind 22. All Along The Watchtower

[megarockradio]

Patsy Cline - Crazy (1961)

Patsy Cline – Crazy (1961)

5 March 1963, Country singers Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas and Hawkshaw Hawkins were killed in a plane crash near Camden, Tennessee. They were travelling to Nashville after appearing at a benefit concert for the widow of Kansas City disc jockey ‘Cactus’ Jack Call, who had died in a car crash. On 7 March, country singer Jack Anglin was killed in a car crash on his way to Cline’s funeral. Cline was…

[dustinreidmusic]

Bob Dylan & His Band ~ Compaq Center ~ San José, California ~ October 12th, 2001

1.Wait For The Light To Shine (Fred Rose)

2.The Times They Are A-Changin'

3.Desolation Row

4.Searching For A Soldier's Grave (Johnnie Wright, Jim Anglin, Jack Anglin)

5.Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum

6.Just Like A Woman

7.Summer Days

8.Standing In The Doorway

9.Masters Of War

10.Mama, You Been On My Mind

11.A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

12.Absolutely Sweet Marie

13.Sugar Baby

14.Cold Irons Bound

15.Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat

—

16.Things Have Changed

17.Like A Rolling Stone

18.Forever Young

19.Honest With Me

20.Blowin' In The Wind

Concert # 1354 of The Never-Ending Tour. Concert # 6 of the 2001 US Fall Tour. 2001 concert # 77.

Concert # 259 with the 12th Never-Ending Tour Band: Bob Dylan (vocal & guitar), Charlie Sexton (guitar), Larry Campbell (guitar, mandolin, pedal steel guitar & electric slide guitar), Tony Garnier (bass), David Kemper (drums & percussion).

1–4, 9–11, 18, 20 acoustic with the band.

2, 6, 18 Bob Dylan (harmonica).

1, 4, 18, 20 Larry Campbell & Charlie Sexton (backup vocals).

[thehistorygirlnj]

I just watched the 1979 "Escape from Alcatraz" with Clint Eastwood, Jack Thibeau and Fred Ward as inmates Frank Morris, Clarence Anglin, and John Anglin. The movie is an adaptation of the 1963 non-fiction book of the same name by J. Campbell Bruce and dramatizes the June 1962 prisoner escape from the maximum security prison on Alcatraz Island. Working at night over the course of six months, the men widened ventilation duct openings in their cells' walls, using saw blades they found discarded on the prison grounds, spoons stolen from the commissary, and a drill improvised from the motor of a broken vacuum cleaner. They concealed the holes with cardboard and paint. Late on the night of June 11 or early morning of June 12, the inmates tucked heads made out of soap wax resembling their own likenesses into their beds, broke out of the main prison building via an unused utility corridor, and departed Alcatraz Island aboard an improvised inflatable raft made out of raincoats. No one is sure if the men survived or drowned in San Francisco Bay, although there are many theories, and the U.S. Marshals Service case file remains open and active. This cell at the #prison is a representation of that famous 1962 escape. #AlcatrazIsland is today part of @goldengatenps. #ca #cahistory #SpreadTheHistory #historygirl #ggnra #alcatraz #escapefromalcatraz #goparks #FindYourPark #nps101 #nps #nationalparkgeek #smallparksaturday #travelblog #travelblogger #blogger #blog #ushistory #americanhistory #exploreca #nationalparkservice #prisoncell #inmate #prisonlife #frankmorris (at Alcatraz Prision)