This Author's Website is
Pop the champagne!
Number 1 Son, Eli, just today dropped his first music video!
The video is for the song “The Thought”, from his latest lofi EP “Home Skillet”.
Enjoy, and feel free to share the crap out of it!
His music is available at: https://elimoore.bandcamp.com/album/home-skillet-2
Cheers from New Zealand.
Long ago and far away I blogged. Then I stopped. Now I am back, briefly, to plug Junior’s debut album before this blog goes down the digital gurgler.
Master Eli Moore spent the last three years seeing the world (47 countries at last count), improving his killer piano chops, falling in and out of love, experiencing many experiences, and writing amazing songs about it all.
Which brings us to “Ship Life“.
Honestly, I have not had so much fun since the hogs ate my sister.
Eli wrote all the songs, produced the album, and even designed and wrote the extensive liner notes.
Thankfully, he got his looks from his Singaporean momma, plus her mad art skills. From Poppa hog, he got his word chops. All together, he’s a total creative bad-ass.
If you happen to be in Auckland, New Zealand on July 21, 2017, drop by Parnell’s Juice Bar for the album’s debut bash. Eli will autograph a copy and I’ll buy you a beer, if you behave, mate.
In the meanwhile, head over to Junior’s website elimooremusic and check out the Q&A. Pretty interesting, innit?
And just because I like you, click here… and you can watch the video/clips that Junior produced as part of his fundraising effort.
Plus here’s a great review.
And with that said, it’s time to go walk Kasey in the boggy paddocks, to feed the chooks and check on the sheep, cows, pigs and horses.
Oh, did I forget to mention the bit about retiring to a farm in Northland, New Zealand?
Hmmm. Must be the Old Timers.
Cheers.
P.S. Two years later, Junior just finished a gig with the B.B. King Blues Band on the Koningsdam cruise ship. Wuz great.
Junior on key in the BB’s
It’s still summer in New Zealand.
Every now and again, when I have a wander into the primordial jungle out back, I find a locust husk (or shell… what do you call those things they hatch from?).
And every time, my childhood memories come pouring back.
We had a mimosa tree in our front yard on Nebraska Street, and half a dozen in the back.
Every summer, the locusts would try to suck them dry and, boy, would they sing loud and long while slurping up the sap.
It has to be said that, as young rascals, my neighbor Eddie and I were not especially kind to the *locusts.
There was probably nothing wrong with collecting their old husks from the trees, and feeding them to Lady Dog, our beagle.
She thought they were better’n pork rinds.
But the other uses we had for locusts were not something that make for particularly sanctifying stories during Lent.
However…
Way back when…
My niece in OKC frequently takes her chillens and their cousins to Lincoln Park Zoo.
Even though they were raised on Harry Potter and Disney World, they love going to the zoo.
I think that’s great, but, really, there is no way a zoo trip can be as awesome to them as it was to us in the Sixties.
I was probably nine years old when we made our first “expedition” all the way from Norman to Lincoln Park Zoo. If memory serves, it was a 9,000 mile journey that took about three months.
I was either with my best friend Steve, or my cousins, or all of them, and possibly a sister or two.
What’s clear is that we were all psyched.
For years, we had been watching *Bob Jenni doing guest spots on Foreman Scotty.
He was always handling snakes and gila monsters and other animals that would kill you dead if you messed up.
We boys were GLUED to the television when Bob was on, quietly rooting for the snake to get lose and maybe bite somebody, just a little bit.
So when we went to the zoo, we were hoping to see some seriously dangerous critters, running wild and eating kids, if we were lucky.
My memories of the zoo are a bit faded, but I remember that the Mothers and Aunties were dead keen on this being an EDUCATIONAL trip, so we were all armed with our Friends of the Zoo Key.
Norman High School’s Grandstand Boozers
I was not much of a joiner at Norman High School.
I played football, and that was about it.
But I was a proud member of two organisations that will go down in infamy: the Grandstand Boozers and Alvan’s Army.
Both involved massive amounts of basketball, testosterone and adult beverages.
Not necessarily in that order.
