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@clarinet-lady
Everyone go look up the song nasa banned from space
Don't forget to play it loud as fuck
please….listen to the whole thing. And imagine that you are IN SPACE in 1973 and you JUST woke up. Every time you adjust…it escalates somehow.
This song had to be designed in a lab for the sole purpose of fucking with astronauts. whoever added it to the NASA playlist was a genius.
It took them two tries to ban it?
did anything crazy happen in ur town?
yes
no
one next to mine
one my friend/family member/partner lives in
results
yeah, the crab rave’s cool and all but here’s what i’ll be playing the day It happens
Lindsey Graham bye bitch!!!
This guy is Serkan Çağrı.
What’s cool is that he’s playing a G clarinet, which is mostly pretty rare, but is used for a lot of Balkan, Turkish, and Roma traditional music. Look how long it is!
It sounds a bit like klezmer clarinet if classical music is your only other point of comparison, and certainly the world of music is essentially borderless, but the instrument and the music are very much from the Balkan-Turkish milieu. Klezmer is usually played on B-flat or C clarinets, rather than G.
I as about to say…is that Klezmer? Is this DOLPHIN KLEZMER?!
See? I didn’t lie to you. I would never lie to anyone about the possibility of dolphin klezmer. When dolphin klezmer happens, I guarantee I’ll be liveblogging it. Watch this space.
Photographs from Alan Lomax’s “Southern Journey” a long series of recordings of various music such as blues, gospel, country, and spirituals from prisoners, recently freed slaves, poor southerners and largely black communities where these genres originated, this series became the first official stereo recordings of traditional african american southern folk music, celebrating generational heritage and the struggles of black life in the south at the time and impacted the creation and commercial spread of american music as we know it pioneering the “american” country sound, many of the singers, musicians and dancers present in these recordings and pictures are unnamed to this day.
happy juneteenth! if you have the time I really recommended taking a listen to some of these recordings to celebrate the voices of my ancestors and their music of resilience, especially as many of these clips are from after chattel slavery was abolished here in america and this series reflects the hope and newfound freedom black americans in the south were feeling as they looked towards the future
Search | Smithsonian Folkways Recordings
Besides Spotify, you can also look up some of his recordings on the Smithsonian Folkways website
Obsessed with this lady who posts trippy music videos of her original compositions while dressed as an elf to r/classicalmusic, probably the wrongest venue to do so
If anything, calling it trippy is underselling it
Obsessed with this lady who posts trippy music videos of her original compositions while dressed as an elf to r/classicalmusic, probably the wrongest venue to do so
Obsessed with this lady who posts trippy music videos of her original compositions while dressed as an elf to r/classicalmusic, probably the wrongest venue to do so
She played bass on 10,000 songs, including the most-played track of the twentieth century. She was paid $55 per session. Her name never appeared on the albums.
Gold Star Studios, Los Angeles, 1964. A woman in a cardigan walks past the receptionist, a Fender Precision bass in her hand like a briefcase. She doesn’t sign autographs. She signs a timesheet.
Her name is Carol Kaye. In three hours, she will record what will become the most-played track of the twentieth century. She’ll pocket fifty-five dollars and head to another studio, on the other side of town, for the next session.
The record label will never put her name on the album.
Between 1957 and 1973, Carol Kaye took part in roughly 10,000 recording sessions. Not as the featured artist, not as a guest, but as a hired hand. She was part of an anonymous collective nicknamed The Wrecking Crew—elite studio musicians who actually played the instruments on your favorite records while the famous bands posed for promotional photos.
The work was relentless. Three albums before the day was over. Stale coffee in paper cups. No rehearsal. The charts arrived minutes before the tape rolled. If you couldn’t read a chart and nail the take in two tries, you didn’t get called for the next session.
Carol could do it on the first try.
She started playing guitar in grimy bars at fourteen because her family couldn’t pay the electric bill. Music wasn’t a romantic dream for her. It was survival. It was a job—factory work with better acoustics and lower pay.
But she was faster and sharper than almost everyone else. She corrected charts in pencil while the producer was still explaining what he wanted. In one session in 1968, she told a famous producer his arrangement sounded like a dying dog. She chose her own line. They kept her version.
That descending bass line that drives the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”? Carol Kaye. The propulsive groove of “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”? Carol Kaye. The acoustic-guitar intro to “La Bamba”? Carol Kaye. The iconic theme from Mission: Impossible? Carol Kaye.
She invented techniques on the spot, out of sheer necessity. When the bass sound was too muddy for AM radio, she stuck felt under the strings and used a hard pick instead of her fingers. The tone cut through the static like a blade. It became the sonic signature that defined 1960s pop.
Bassists spent years—decades—trying to crack the secret of the Beach Boys’ gear to get that sound. They were studying the wrong people. They should have been studying Carol.
She received no royalties. No residuals. No gold-record ceremony. No credit on the album sleeves. When “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” hit number one, Carol was already back in a studio cutting a soap jingle.
The biggest bands mimed her bass lines on TV variety shows. New York marketing departments decided a mom in classic clothes didn’t fit the rebellious-youth image they were selling. So they simply left her name off the album credits.
For thirty years, almost no one cared. The truth only began to surface in the late 1990s, when music researchers found the same union contract numbers on thousands of hit records. The very documents meant to preserve studio musicians’ anonymity betrayed them.
Think about it. Every time you heard “Good Vibrations,” “River Deep – Mountain High,” the Righteous Brothers, Nancy Sinatra, or Sonny and Cher, you were hearing Carol Kaye. She composed the soundtrack of an entire generation’s youth.
And yet the records still say nothing. She’s now over eighty. She wrote instructional books. She trained countless bassists. She is finally starting to be recognized by music historians who uncovered the truth about The Wrecking Crew.
But she never got what she deserved: her name on those albums. Credit for the music that defined an era. Recognition that those bass lines everyone associates with the “Beach Boys” were, in fact, Carol Kaye’s.
Fifty-five dollars a session. Ten thousand sessions. The most-played track of the twentieth century.
And the world didn’t know her name.
She was admitted to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2025 but refused, fuck yeah, Carol. Her official website is incredible.
Hieronymus Bosch
He looks a bit different than I imagined.
theremin
