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Image Number: 0180-0602-1120-0631
This image is available for editorial and educational use only. Contact Customer Service to inquire about additional uses.
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'Rights Managed' licensing and is available for immediate download.
Keywords: art print, art prints, clipart, clip art, graphic, graphics, image, images, picture, pictures, photo, photos, photograph, photographs, poster, posters, stock photo, stock photos, stock photography, web graphic, web graphics , architecture, balconies, balcony, chair, chairs, cottage, gaja snover, home, homes, house, houses, marthas vineyard, massachusetts, new england, oak bluffs, patio, patio furniture, porch, rail, railing, residence, residential, rocking chair
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One of the users has updated his photo/picture on his My Site and it is showing the updated photo (on his My Site) as well as the picture property (user profile property) in SSP is updated with the new url (http://...).
However, the new picture is not displaying in the other sharepoint web-applications. I have verified that the user has already contribute/uploaded a document into the document library in the site-collection.
I even removed the user from the sharepoint member group and re-added the user using people picker window however still the result is same.
I run the "stsadm -o sync" and it did not fix the issue.
Do we have any specific method or command to fix this ?

subset: commoncrawl


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BuddyLove Fonda Racerback Long Line Workout Top - Death Valley
- Model is wearing a size Small
- 80% Nylon 20% Spandex
- Wash cold
- Length: Small-13.5" Medium-14" Large-14.5"
- Made in the USA
- Model is wearing a size Small
- 80% Nylon 20% Spandex
- Wash cold
- Length: Small-13.5" Medium-14" Large-14.5"
- Made in the USA
Shipping and Returns Policy
Return Policy Effective for Orders Placed After April 10, 2019
We are so sorry that your purchase did not work for you! Luckily, we have made returns easy and hassle free!! When returning your item(s), please include your invoice or invoice number, return form, and make sure that your return is in compliance with the policy below. Please ship your returns to the address listed below.
• All return items must be received by the BuddyLove Returns Department within 30 days from the date purchased in order to be eligible for a refund.
• Customers are responsible for return postage.
• Return items must be in their unworn, unaltered, unwashed, and smoke-free condition with tags attached (if applicable).
• Jewelry and Intimates are all FINAL SALE.
• Select sales and promotions may be classified as FINAL SALE. See individual promotions for details.
• The BuddyLove staff will determine if the item is eligible for a return and/or refund. Clothing returned that is not in compliance with our return policy will be refused.
• BuddyLove reserves the right to determine eligibility for returns and to update this policy and any time.
• Refunds will be credited back to your original method of payment and will post approximately 3-10 days after the date of processing.
• If you have any questions regarding our return policy, feel free to email us at firstname.lastname@example.com.
Due to large volume of orders we do not perform direct exchanges at this time. We recommend returning the unwanted item within the 30 day return period and repurchasing the new item. If you have any questions regarding our policy, feel free to email us at firstname.lastname@example.com
BuddyLove stands behind our products and wants you to be satisfied with your purchase. We always do our best to take care of our customers - dealing with all situations fairly and responsibly! If you received a damaged or defective item, please email us at firstname.lastname@example.com and we will correct this right away.
Please send returns to:
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Shipping Policy
• All BuddyLove online retail purchases are shipped via USPS First Class Mail or Priority Mail from Dallas, Texas within 2 business days unless otherwise stated at checkout. Your items should arrive to you within 1-5 business days depending on your shipping location.
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• Please note: Holidays may cause delays in shipping time.
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Greetings Off-Roaders!
Spintires™ is an Intel® award winning off-road driving experience designed to challenge the player's driving skill and endurance. Take responsibility of operating large all-terrain vehicles and venture across the rugged landscapes with only a map and compass to guide you. Explore the levels and unlock portions of the map whilst discovering new trucks, fuelling stations, garages and lumber mills.
Collect lumber with the crane attachments and try to deliver them to the objectives. Use the surroundings to your advantage, you may need to winch yourself free! The real-time deformable terrain will challenge even the most seasoned offroader. Do you accept the challenge?
Spintires is now released
Greetings Off-Roaders!
Download the Tech Demo
Downloads are below. The first is just the game the second is the Dev(Mod) version. Only download the one you need - Last updated 06-2013
NOTE: The above file is the original none-moddable tech demo. The file below is the developers version which allows community modifications. - Last updated Build 07-2013Mirror 1 Mirror 2 Mirror 3
Frequently Asked Questions
What is Spintires?
How will my pledges help Spintires?
Can I make a pledge via PayPal instead of Kickstarter?
Will pledges made via PayPal affect the overall Kickstarter goal?
Will Spintires support community modifications?
Does the Spintires demo support any other control methods other than the keyboard?
What are the minimum computer specifications for the tech demo?


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Visualizing How Our Brains Make Visual Meaning of Our World
Posted by The Situationist Staff on December 26, 2012
From TEDTalks:
Information designer Tom Wujec talks through three areas of the brain that help us understand words, images, feelings, connections. In this short talk from TEDU, he asks: How can we best engage our brains to help us better understand big ideas?
Related Situationist posts:
- The Situation of Human Vision
- Beau Lotto on the Situation of Sight,
- The Situation of Sight,
- Brain Magic,
- Magic is in the Mind, and
- The Situation of Illusion
Click here for a collection of posts on illusion.


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This year's gathering of first-person shooter diehards at Quakecon will feature more than just id Software's Quake, Doom and Rage. Bethesda's showing up too, armed with Brink. More surprising is an appearance by the former heads of Infinity Ward.
Jason West and Vince Zampella, who went on to form Respawn Entertainment after getting canned from Call of Duty developer Infinity Ward, will make the trip to Dallas, Texas to talk about video games. They'll be sitting on the 'Building Blockbusters' panel, joined by id's Tim Willits and Bethesda's Todd Howard to talk shop. That could be very interesting.
Former NCsoft developer and Lord British himself, Richard Garriott, will also be there. He'll join id's John Carmack for a little "Rocket Talk" where they'll "share their passion for Rockets and space travel in this special QuakeCon presentation."
QuakeCon happens August 12 through 15 and is free and open to the public, if you'd like to go. Kotaku will be there in the form of Stephen Totilo, who will host the 'Building Immersive Worlds and Stories' Panel that you see in the schedule below.
Thursday 'The World of Design' Panel
12.30pm in the Cortez Room
Joel Burgess, Bethesda Game Studios
Matt Hooper, id Software
Neil Alphonso, Splash Damage
Todd Alderman, Respawn Entertainment
QuakeCon Kick Off
2:30pm in the Grand Ballroom
Todd Hollenshead will welcome attendees to QuakeCon 2010
2:30pm in the Grand Ballroom
John Carmack's Annual Keynote address to QuakeCon attendees
"Rocket Talk"
5:30pm in the Grand Ballroom
John Carmack and Richard Garriott share their passion for Rockets and space travel in this special QuakeCon presentation
Friday 'Building Blockbusters' Panel
11:00am in the Grand Ballroom
Jason West, Respawn Entertainment
Tim Willits, id Software
Todd Howard, Bethesda Game Studios
Vince Zampella, Respawn Entertainment
'Building Immersive Worlds and Stories' Panel
1:00pm in the Cortez Room
Chris Rhinehart from Human Head
Emil Pagliarulo from Bethesda Game Studios
Harvey Smith, Arkane Studios
Raphael Colantonio, Arkane Studios
Special RAGE Presentation
2:00pm in the Grand Ballroom
Tim Willits and Matt Hooper Present RAGE
'Let There Be Sound' Panel
4:00pm in the Cortez Room
Chris Sweetman, Splash Damage
Christian Antkow, id Software
Mark Lampert, Bethesda Game Studios
Zack Quarles, id Software
'The Art of the Game' Panel
4:00pm in the Cortez Room
Matt Carofano, Bethesda Game Studios
Olivier Leonardi, Splash Damage
Stephan Martine, id Software
Viktor Antonov, Arkane Studios
Saturday Special Brink Presentation
11:00am in the Grand Ballroom
Paul Wedgwood, CEO of Splash Damage and Game Director of Brink will be on hand to share a presentation of the game with QuakeCon attendees.


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By Poet 786
That was the day we shall remember forever
When they said the Giant will arise again never
When the skies over the Ummah became clouded
When the Qur'an was in a dark cloth shrouded
The light of the world was now extinguished
The darkness could no longer be distinguished
They claimed the sun shall never set in their Empire
They declared our defeat & fulfilled their evil desire
They had eventually rid themselves from the "Sick-man"
They began to carve out our land handspan by handspan
Our body ripped into pieces as the predators attacked
Awaiting like vultures our rulers watched and backed
The rulers were rewarded for their treachery
Given a piece of land each for their butchery
How could 55 equal 1? The Ummah was puzzled
United but divided? We were confused and baffled
We watched as they attacked every man, woman and child
Amongst our brothers & sisters the wolves went wild
With time we became dazzled by the American dream
No longer could we hear for help our mothers' scream
They plotted & planned forgetting the best of planners is Allah
Who promised there will always be good in the Ummah of RasoolAllah
The poisoned Giant was not dead but rather sleeping
It began to move a limb with every child weeping
With the increasing massacres it's consciousness regained
Suddenly the Giant awoke with it's strength retained
Every word & step of the Giant shook a tyrant's throne
Islam began to reach every house made out of clay or stone
Recalling the day in 1924 when they destroyed the Caliphate
The Ummah worked day & night to re-establish the Islamic State
With a vision of restoring the Giant's might & glory
So that never again would there be a 7/7 or 3/3


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What are the critical issues facing some of the nation's major in-dustries? TEMPO has asked louche Ross pro-fessionals in each of seven fields to discuss his industry's response to its problems and the prospects of reaching a solution. Their com-mon concerns appear to be inflation, capital shortage, and pro-ductivity.
Industries selected are banking, construc-tion, energy resources, government, health care, retailing, and sav-ings and loan.
by DENNIS BERSCH National Services Director
To a construction man it sometimes seems that even a casual observer could recite a litany of his problems. A weak national economy combined with skyrocketing construction costs has resulted in a lack of work, increased competition, and lower profit margins. New records have been set in the industry for the rate of business failures, defaults on bonded jobs, and chargeoffs by banks on con-struction loans. Outside influences, particularly in the form of environ-mental impact studies, have cur-tailed job progress to an extent never before experienced by the industry.
Delays of course cost money, espe-cially at a time when the price of labor and materials is rising. Shortages have also raised the prices on con-struction materials more rapidly than has inflation.
But some people within the in-dustry are looking beyond these highly visible problems. A number of respected industry spokesmen feel that the one overriding problem of the industry is its failure to unite its members in an effective communi-cations effort.
The industry is fragmented in many ways, not only between general and trade contractors, but also among those within the same metropolitan area. Ironically, the characteristic of contractors that makes the industry one of the last bastions of entre-preneurship is the underlying cause of such fragmentation. This is their unwillingness to give up their sov-ereignty. As a result, contractors as a group do not speak with a voice any-where near as powerful as should be expected from an industry larger than either automobiles or steel.


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Jerry Seinfeld didn't find the floods in Nashville funny.
The comedian says he is donating all the proceeds from Friday's show at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center, just a few blocks from the scene of widespread flood damage.
The proceeds will be split between the Community Foundation of Middle Tennessee and American Red Cross Disaster Relief Fund.
"This is a tough time for a great city, and I'm very happy to donate the proceeds from this show to the local organizations that are bringing help where it's needed," Seinfeld said in an e-mail to The Associated Press.
Seinfeld is one of dozens of stars and organizations who have offered help after a deadly string of storms caused widespread flooding in Tennessee. Thousands of homes were damaged or destroyed and more than 34 people died across three states, including 22 in Tennessee.
A telethon featuring Brad Paisley and Lady Antebellum will be held Sunday night on cable network GAC. A local telethon the week after the floods hosted by Vince Gill raised more than $1.7 million.
Taylor Swift has donated $500,000 to relief organizations and will continue to help raise funds by appearing in "Nashville Rising," a June 22 benefit concert hosted by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw. The lineup includes Carrie Underwood, Miley Cyrus, Brooks&Dunn, Miranda Lambert, Martina McBride and many others.
Ke$ha, a Nashville-area native, has a benefit concert planned for June 16.
And the Country Throwdown Tour will take the effort on the road this summer. Some artists on the traveling tour, including Montgomery Gentry, Eric Church and Jack Ingram, will donate a portion of their merchandise proceeds to flood relief. Organizers also are giving 50 cents from every ticket to charity with a percentage going to Hands On Nashville.
Jerry Seinfeld Joins Country Celebs in Helping Nashville
Jerry Seinfeld didn't find the floods in Nashville funny.


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The Crimson will play three matches this weekend at the Hokie Invitational (Gil Talbot).
Story Line
The Harvard women's volleyball team will open its 32nd season of play this weekend at the Hokie Invitational in Blacksburg, Va. The Crimson will first face Middle Tennessee State on Friday at 4 p.m. and on Saturday will take on host Virginia Tech at 12:30 p.m. and Towson at 5 p.m.
Fans can follow live stats throughout the tournament by clicking here.
Captain of the Ship
Senior Taylor Docter was voted by her teammates as the 59th captain of Harvard women's volleyball. Docter was an All-Ivy League second team and Academic All-Ivy honoree in 2011 after ranking eighth in the conference in kills per set (3.05), seventh in aces (0.27) and seventh in points per set (3.52). The Los Altos, Calif., native also averaged 1.72 dps on the defensive side of the net and finished her year with career-highs in kills, attempts, hitting percentage and digs.
"Taylor has been an impact player since her freshmen season," Head Coach Jen Weiss commented. "She came in this preseason in great shape and ready to work hard. As a second team All-Ivy outside hitter, she led our team in points scored and kills per set. She has a natural ability to lead and her peers respect her on and off the court. Taylor's composure on court has been tremendous this year and I look forward to her leading the team."
Welcome Back
The Crimson welcomes back nine letterwinners from last year's squad which posted a 12-12 overall record, marking the program's first season of .500 play since 2004. Taylor Docter and Kristen Casey are the team's top returners on offense after averaging 3.05 kps and 2.71 kps, respectively, while Teresa Skelly (1.00 bps) and Erin Cooney (0.60 bps) will be looked upon to help stabilize the defense. Other returnees include seniors Beth Kinsella and Olivia Staffon, junior Natalie Doyle and sophomores Tara MacLean and Caroline Walters.
Watch the video below to hear from Docter and Casey following the team's first day of practice.
Freshmen Four-Pack
Caroline Holte, Hannah Schmidt, Jennifer Shults and Kathleen Wallace have joined the Crimson for the 2012 season after combining for three state championships, eight league championships and three Academic All-America honors in high school. Click here to read more on Harvard's freshmen class.
Platinum Anniversary
Head coach Jen Weiss is entering her 20th season at the helm of the Crimson. Weiss owns a 241-278 record on the sidelines and guided Harvard to its only Ivy League championship in 2004. She has mentored 46 All-Ivy honorees, five Ivy League Rookie of the Year recipients and coached the program's first two-time Ivy League Player of the Year in Kaego Ogbechie '05.
Check out Weiss' 2012 season preview video below.
Keep an Eye Out For…
Taylor Docter, Teresa Skelly and Kristen Casey each enter the 2012 season with a chance to make their marks on the Harvard record books. Docter sits just outside the program's all-time top 10 for career kills with 699, while her career 2.52 kps is currently 10th best in school annals. Skelly is just shy of entering the top 10 in total blocks (183) and block assists (162), and Casey's 2.71 kps average after one season would be seventh on the list.
Catch the Crimson in 2012
Harvard will host 11 home matches at the Malkin Athletic Center this season and each will be streamed live online through GoCrimson.com. Fans can also watch each match On Demand approximately two hours after completion. One-year subscriptions are available for $49.95 and allow access to every home event streamed by the Crimson, including football, men's and women's basketball and men's and women's hockey. For more information or to sign up today, click here.
Scouting Middle Tennessee State (1-3)
Middle Tennessee State opened its 2012 season by going 1-3 at the Blue Raider Bash last weekend, topping UAB, 3-0, while falling to Furman, 3-0, UTSA, 3-1, and UC Davis, 3-2. Chelsea Ross and Ashley Adams led the way offensively for the Blue Raiders, notching 3.60 kps and 3.47 kps, respectively. Alyssa Ivy (5.13 aps) and Shelby Anderton (4.60 aps) split the setting duties, with Bri McCombs (3.73 dps) and Tyler Richardson (1.14 bps) carrying the load defensively.
Scouting Virginia Tech (1-2)
Virginia Tech went 1-2 in its opening weekend of play, knocking off Nicholls State, 3-0, before dropping matches against Missouri, 3-1, and No. 23 Michigan, 3-2, at Missouri's Tiger Volleyball Invitational. The Hokies featured a balanced attack with Jennifer Wiker (3.50 kps), Samantha Gostling (2.92) and Cara Baarendse (2.58 kps) leading the charge. Jordan Fish tallied 10.50 aps as the team's primary setter with Victoria Hamsher and Jennifer Wiker notching 0.92 bps and 0.83 bps, respectively.
Scouting Towson (4-0)
Towson boasts a perfect 4-0 record after the first weekend of play, having defeated UMBC, St. John's, Coppin State and Morgan State in straight sets at the Battle of the Bay hosted by Morgan State. Katy Buck and Dayane Van Ass recorded 3.33 kps and 3.11 kps, respectively, while Marta Machos and Alysha McCreary chipped in 2.33 kps and 2.08 kps. Setter Aubrey Kirven notched 10.42 aps while directing the Tiger offense to a .293 hitting percentage, with the block of McCreary (1.17 bps), I'ishah Keliikoa (0.91 bps) and Machos (0.83 bps) holding opponents to a .052 hitting percentage.


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Winter, 1973. Late afternoon: the entr'acte between dusk and darkness, when the people who conduct their business in the street—numbers runners in gray chesterfields, out-of-work barmaids playing the dozens, adolescents cultivating their cigarette jones and lust, small-time hustlers selling "authentic" gold wristwatches that are platinum bright—look for a place to roost and to drink in the day's sin. Young black guy, looks like the comedian Richard Pryor, walks into one of his hangouts, Opal's Silver Spoon Café. A greasy dive with an R. & B. jukebox, it could be in Detroit or in New York, could be anywhere. Opal's has a proprietor—Opal, a young and wise black woman, who looks like the comedian Lily Tomlin—and a little bell over the door that goes tink-a-link, announcing all the handouts and gimmes who come to sit at Opal's counter and talk about how needy their respective asses are.
Black guy sits at the counter, and Opal offers him some potato soup—"something nourishing," she says. Black guy has moist, on-the-verge-of-lying-or-crying eyes and a raggedy Afro. He wears a green fatigue jacket, the kind of jacket brothers brought home from 'Nam, which guys like this guy continue to wear long after they've returned home, too shell-shocked or stoned to care much about their haberdashery. Juke—that's the black guy's name—is Opal's baby, flopping about in all them narcotics he's trying to get off of by taking that methadone, which Juke and Opal pronounce "methadon"—the way two old-timey Southerners would, the way Juke and Opal's elders might have, if they knew what that shit was, or was for.
Juke and Opal express their feelings for each other, their shared view of the world, in a lyrical language, a colored people's language, which tries to atomize their anger and their depression. Sometimes their anger is wry: Opal is tired of hearing about Juke's efforts to get a job, and tells him so. "Hand me that jive about job training," she says. "You trained, all right. You highly skilled at not working." But that's not entirely true. Juke has submitted himself to the rigors of "rehabilitation." "I was down there for about three weeks, at that place, working," Juke says. "Had on a suit, tie. Shaving. Acting crazy. Looked just like a fool in the circus." Pause. "And I'm fed up with it." Pause. "Now I know how to do a job that don't know how to be done no more." Opal's face fills with sadness. Looking at her face can fill your mind with sadness. She says, "For real?" It's a rhetorical question that black people have always asked each other or themselves when they're handed more hopelessness: Is this for real?
Night is beginning to spread all over Juke and Opal's street; it is the color of a thousand secrets combined. The bell rings, and a delivery man comes in, carting pies. Juke decides that everyone should chill out—he'll play the jukebox, they'll all get down. Al Green singing "Let's Stay Together" makes the pie man and Juke do a little finger-snapping, a little jive. Opal hesitates, says, "Naw," but then dances anyway, and her shyness is just part of the fabric of the day, as uneventful as the delivery man leaving to finish up his rounds, or Opal and Juke standing alone in this little restaurant, a society unto themselves.
The doorbell's tiny peal. Two white people—a man and a woman, social workers—enter Opal's. Youngish, trenchcoated. And the minute the white people enter, something terrible happens, from an aesthetic point of view. They alienate everything. They fracture our suspended disbelief. They interrupt our identification with the protagonists of the TV show we've been watching, which becomes TV only when those social workers start hassling our Juke, our Opal, equal halves of the same resilient black body. When we see those white people, we start thinking about things like credits, and remember that this is a television play, after all, written by the brilliant Jane Wagner, and played with astonishing alacrity and compassion by Richard Pryor and Lily Tomlin on "Lily," Tomlin's second variety special, which aired on CBS in 1973, and which remains, a little over a quarter of a century later, the most profound meditation on race and class that I have ever seen on a major network.
"We're doing some community research and we'd like to ask you a few questions," the white woman social worker declares as soon as she enters Opal's. Juke and Opal are more than familiar with this line of inquiry, which presumes that people like them are always available for questioning—servants of the liberal cause. "I wonder if you can tell me, have you ever been addicted to drugs?" the woman asks Juke.
Pryor-as-Juke responds instantly. "Yeah, I been addicted," he says. "I'm addicted right now—don't write it down, man, be cool, it's not for the public. I mean, what I go through is private." He is incapable of making "Fuck you" his first response—or even his first thought. Being black has taught him how to allow white people their innocence. For black people, being around white people is sometimes like taking care of babies you don't like, babies who throw up on you again and again, but whom you cannot punish, because they're babies. Eventually, you direct that anger at yourself—it has nowhere else to go.
Juke tries to turn the questioning around a little, through humor, which is part of his pathos. "I have some questions," he tells the community researchers, then tries to approximate their straight, white tone: "Who's Pigmeat Markham's Mama?" he asks. "Wilt Chamberlain the tallest colored chap you ever saw?"
When the white people have left and Juke is about to leave, wrapped in his thin jacket, he turns to Opal and says, "You sweet. You a sweet woman. . . . I'll think aboutcha." His eyes are wide with love and need, and maybe fear or madness. "Be glad when it's spring," he says to Opal. Pause. "Flower!"
"Lily" was never shown again on network television, which is not surprising, given that part of its radicalism is based on the fact that it features a white female star who tries to embody a black woman while communicating with a black man about substantive emotional matters, and who never wears anything as theatrically simple as blackface to do it; Tomlin plays Opal in whiteface, as it were. Nevertheless, "Juke and Opal," which lasts all of nine minutes and twenty-five seconds, and which aired in the same season in which "Hawaii Five-O," "The Waltons," and "Ironside" were among television's top-rated shows, remains historically significant for reasons other than the skin game.
As Juke, Richard Pryor gave one of his relatively few great performances in a project that he had not written or directed. He made use of the poignancy that marks all of his great comedic and dramatic performances, and of the vulnerability—the pathos cradling his sharp wit—that had seduced people into loving him in the first place. Tomlin kept Pryor on the show over objections from certain of the network's executives, and it may have been her belief in him as a performer, combined with the high standards she set for herself and others, that spurred on the competitive-minded Pryor. His language in this scene feels improvised, confessional, and so internalized that it's practically nonverbal: not unlike the best of Pryor's own writing—the stories he tells when he talks shit into a microphone, doing standup. And as he sits at Opal's counter we can see him falling in love with Tomlin's passion for her work, recognizing it as the passion he feels when he peoples the stage with characters who might love him as much as Tomlin-as-Opal seems to now.
Although Richard Pryor was more or less forced to retire in 1994, eight years after he discovered that he had multiple sclerosis ("It's the stuff God hits your ass with when he doesn't want to kill ya—just slow ya down," he told Entertainment Weekly in 1993), his work as a comedian, a writer, an actor, and a director amounts to a significant chapter not only in late-twentieth-century American comedy but in American entertainment in general. Pryor is best known now for his work in the lackadaisical Gene Wilder buddy movies or for abominations like "The Toy." But far more important was the prescient commentary on the issues of race and sex in America that he presented through standup and sketches like "Juke and Opal"—the heartfelt and acute social observation, the comedy that littered the stage with the trash of the quotidian as it was sifted through his harsh and poetic imagination, and that changed the very definition of the word "entertainment," particularly for a black entertainer.
The subject of blackness has taken a strange and unsatisfying journey through American thought: first, because blackness has almost always had to explain itself to a largely white audience in order to be heard, and, second, because it has generally been assumed to have only one story to tell—a story of oppression that plays on liberal guilt. The writers behind the collective modern ur-text of blackness—James Baldwin, Richard Wright, and Ralph Ellison—all performed some variation on the theme. Angry but distanced, their rage blanketed by charm, they lived and wrote to be liked. Ultimately, whether they wanted to or not, they in some way embodied the readers who appreciated them most—white liberals.
Richard Pryor was the first black American spoken-word artist to avoid this. Although he reprised the history of black American comedy—picking what he wanted from the work of great storytellers like Bert Williams, Redd Foxx, Moms Mabley, Nipsey Russell, LaWanda Page, and Flip Wilson—he also pushed everything one step further. Instead of adapting to the white perspective, he forced white audiences to follow him into his own experience. Pryor didn't manipulate his audiences' white guilt or their black moral outrage. If he played the race card, it was only to show how funny he looked when he tried to shuffle the deck. And as he made blackness an acknowledged part of the American atmosphere he also brought the issue of interracial love into the country's discourse. In a culture whose successful male Negro authors wrote about interracial sex with a combination of reverence and disgust, Pryor's gleeful, "fuck it" attitude had an effect on the general population which Wright's "Native Son" or Baldwin's "Another Country" had not had. His best work showed us that black men like him and the white women they loved were united in their disenfranchisement; in his life and onstage, he performed the great, largely unspoken story of America.
"I love Lily," Pryor said in a Rolling Stone interview with David Felton, in 1974, after "Juke and Opal" had aired and he and Tomlin had moved on to other things. "I have a thing about her, a little crush. . . . I get in awe of her. I'd seen her on 'Laugh-In' and shit, and something about her is very sensual, isn't it?"
Sensuality implies a certain physical abandonment, an acknowledgment of the emotional mess that oozes out between the seams that hold our public selves together—and an understanding of the metaphors that illustrate that disjunction. (One of Tomlin's early audition techniques was to tap-dance with taps taped to the soles of her bare feet.) It is difficult to find that human untidiness—what Pryor called "the madness" of everyday life—in the formulaic work now being done by the performers who ostensibly work in the same vein as Pryor and Tomlin. Compare the rawness of the four episodes of a television show that Pryor co-wrote and starred in for NBC in 1977 with any contemporary HBO show by Tracey Ullman (who needs blackface to play a black woman): the first Pryor special opens with a closeup of his face as he announces that he has not had to compromise himself to appear on a network-sponsored show. The camera then pulls back to reveal Pryor seemingly nude but with his genitalia missing.
Pryor's art defies the very definition of the word "order." He based his style on digressions and riffs—the monologue as jam session. He reinvented standup, which until he developed his signature style, in 1971, had consisted largely of borscht-belt-style male comedians telling tales in the Jewish vernacular, regardless of their own religion or background. Pryor managed to make blacks interesting to audiences that were used to responding to a liberal Jewish sensibility—and, unlike some of his colored colleagues, he did so without "becoming" Jewish himself. (Dick Gregory, for example, was a political comedian in the tradition of Mort Sahl; Bill Cosby was a droll Jack Benny.) At the height of his career, Pryor never spoke purely in the complaint mode. He was often baffled by life's complexities, but he rarely told my-wife-made-me-sleep-on-the-sofa jokes or did "bits" whose sole purpose was to "kill" an audience with a boffo punch line. Instead, he talked about characters—black street people, mostly. Because the life rhythm of a black junkie, say, implies a certain drift, Pryor's stories did not have badda-bing conclusions. Instead, they were encapsulated in a physical attitude: each character was represented in Pryor's walk, in his gestures—which always contained a kind of vicarious wonder at the lives he was enacting. Take, for instance, his sketch of a wino in Peoria, Illinois—Pryor's hometown and the land of his imagination—as he encounters Dracula. In the voice of a Southern black man, down on his luck:
Hey man, say, nigger—you with the cape. . . . What's your name, boy? Dracula? What kind of name is that for a nigger? Where you from, fool? Transylvania? I know where it is, nigger! You ain't the smartest motherfucker in the world, even though you is the ugliest. Oh yeah, you a ugly motherfucker. Why you don't get your teeth fixed, nigger? That shit hanging all out your mouth. Why you don't get you an orthodontist? . . . This is 1975, boy. Get your shit together. What's wrong with your natural? Got that dirt all in the back of your neck. You's a filthy little motherfucker, too. You got to be home 'fore the sun come up? You ain't lyin', motherfucker. See your ass during the day, you liable to get arrested. You want to suck what? You some kind of freak, boy? . . . You ain't suckin' nothing here, junior.
Pryor's two best comedy albums, both of which were recorded during the mid to late seventies—"Bicentennial Nigger" and "That Nigger's Crazy"—are not available on CD, but his two concert films, "Richard Pryor Live in Concert" and "Richard Pryor—Live on the Sunset Strip," which were released in 1979 and 1982, respectively, are out on video. The concert films are excellent examples of what the Village Voice critic Carrie Rickey once described as Pryor's ability to "scare us into laughing at his demons—our demons—exorcising them through mass hyperventilation." "Pryor doesn't tell jokes," she wrote, "he tells all, in the correct belief that without punch lines, humor has more punch. And pungency." Taken together, the concert films show the full panorama of Pryor's moods: brilliant, boring, insecure, demanding, misogynist, racist, playful, and utterly empathetic.
Before Richard Pryor, there were only three aspects of black maleness to be found on TV or in the movies: the suave, pimp-style blandness of Billy Dee Williams; the big-dicked, quiet machismo of the football hero Jim Brown; and the cable-knit homilies of Bill Cosby. Pryor was the first image we'd ever had of black male fear. Not the kind of Stepin Fetchit noggin-bumpin'-into-walls fear that turned Buckwheat white when he saw a ghost in the "Our Gang" comedies popular in the twenties, thirties, and forties—a character that Eddie Murphy resuscitated in a presumably ironic way in the eighties on "Saturday Night Live." Pryor was filled with dread and panic—an existential fear, based on real things, like racism and lost love. (In a skit on "In Living Color," the actor Damon Wayans played Pryor sitting in his kitchen and looking terrified, while a voiceover said, "Richard Pryor—afraid of absolutely everything.")
"Hi. I'm Richard Pryor." Pause. "Hope I'm funny." That was how he introduced himself to audiences for years, but he never sounded entirely convinced that he cared about being funny. Instead, Pryor embodied the voice of injured humanity. A satirist of his own experience, he revealed what could be considered family secrets—secrets about his past, and about blacks in general, and about his relationship to the black and white worlds he did and did not belong to. In the black community, correctness, political or otherwise, remains part of the mortar that holds lives together. Pryor's comedy was a high-wire act: how to stay funny to a black audience while satirizing the moral strictures that make black American life like no other.
The standard approach, in magazine articles about Pryor, has been to comment on his anger—in an imitation-colloquial language meant to approximate Pryor's voice. "Richard Pryor said it first: That nigger's crazy," begins a 1978 article in People magazine. And Pryor had fun with the uneasiness that the word "nigger" provoked in others. (Unlike Lenny Bruce, he didn't believe that if you said a word over and over again it would lose its meaning.) Take his great "Supernigger" routine: "Look up in the sky, it's a crow, it's a bat. No, it's Supernigger! Yes, friends, Supernigger, with X-ray vision that enables him to see through everything except Whitey."
In 1980, in the second of three interviews that Barbara Walters conducted with Richard Pryor, this exchange took place:
WALTERS: When you're onstage . . . see, it's hard for me to say. I was going to say, you talk about niggers. I can't . . . you can say it. I can't say it.
PRYOR: You just said it.
WALTERS: Yeah, but I feel so . . .
PRYOR: You said it very good.
WALTERS: . . . uncomfortable.
PRYOR: Well, good. You said it pretty good.
PRYOR: That's not the first time you said it. (Laughter.)
Pryor's anger, though, is actually not as interesting as his self-loathing. Given how much he did to make black pride part of American popular culture, it is arresting to see how at times his blackness seemed to feel like an ill-fitting suit. One gets the sense that he called himself a "nigger" as a kind of preëmptive strike, because he never knew when the term would be thrown at him by whites, by other blacks, or by the women he loved. Because he didn't match any of the prevailing stereotypes of "cool" black maleness, he carved out an identity for himself that was not only "nigger" but "sub-nigger." In "Live on the Sunset Strip" he wears a maraschino-red suit with silk lapels, a black shirt, and a bow tie. He says, "Billy Dee Williams could hang out in this suit and look cool." He struts. "And me?" His posture changes from cocky to pitiful.
Pryor believed that there was something called unconditional love, which he alone had not experienced. But to whom could he, a "sub-nigger," turn for that kind of love? The working-class blacks who made him feel guilty for leaving them behind? His relatives, who acted as if it were their right to hit him up for cash because he'd used their stories to make it? The white people who felt safe with him because he was neurotic—a quality they equated with intelligence? The women who married him for money or status? The children he rarely saw? He was alienated from nearly everyone and everything except his need. This drama was what made Pryor's edge so sharp. He acted out against his fantasy by testing it with rude, brilliant commentary. A perfect role for Pryor might have been Dostoyevsky's antihero, Alexei, in "The Gambler," whose bemused nihilism affects every relationship he attempts. (Pryor once told Walters that he saw people "as the nucleus of a great idea that hasn't come to be yet.") That antiheroic anger prevents him from just telling a joke. He tells it through clenched teeth. He tells it to stave off bad times. He tells it to look for love.
Black guy named Richard Pryor, famous, maybe a little high, appears on the eleventh Barbara Walters special, broadcast on May 29, 1979, and says this about his childhood, a sad house of cards he has glued together with wit:
PRYOR: It was hell, because I had nobody to talk to. I was a child, right, and I grew up seeing my mother . . . and my aunties going to rooms with men, you understand. . . .
WALTERS: Your grandmother ran a house of prostitution or a whorehouse.
PRYOR: Three houses. Three.
WALTERS: Three houses of prostitution. She was the chief madam.
PRYOR: . . . There were no others.
WALTERS: O.K. . . . Who believed in you? Who cared about you?
PRYOR: Richard Franklin Lennox Thomas Pryor the Third.
The isolation that Richard Pryor feels is elaborated on from time to time, like a bit he can't stop reworking. The sad bit, he could call it, if he did bits anymore, his skinny frame twisting around the words to a story that goes something like this: Born in Peoria, on December 1, 1940. "They called Peoria the model city. That meant it had the niggers under control." Grew up in one of the whorehouses on North Washington Street, which was the house of his paternal grandmother, Marie Carter Pryor Bryant. "She reminded me of a large sunflower—big, strong, bright, appealing," Pryor wrote in his 1995 memoir, "Pryor Convictions." But "she was also a mean, tough, controlling bitch."
Pryor called his father's mother "Mama," despite the fact that he had a mother, Gertrude. When Richard's father, Buck Carter, met Gertrude, she was already involved in Peoria's nefarious underworld, and she soon began working in Marie's whorehouse. Everything in Richard Pryor's world, as he grew up, centered on Marie, and he never quite recovered from that influence. "I come from criminal people," he told one radio interviewer. At the age of six, he was sexually abused by a young man in the neighborhood (who, after Richard Pryor became Richard Pryor, came to his trailer on a film set and asked for his autograph). And Pryor never got over the division he saw in his mother: the way she could separate her emotional self from her battered body and yet was emotionally damaged anyway.
"At least, Gertrude didn't flush me down the toilet, as some did," Pryor wrote in his memoir. "The only person scarier than God was my mother. . . . One time Buck hit Gertrude, and she turned blue with anger and said 'Okay, motherfucker, don't hit me no more. . . . Don't stand in front of me with fucking undershorts on and hit me, motherfucker.' Quick as lightning, she reached out with her finger claws and swiped at my father's dick. Ripped his nutsack off. I was just a kid when I saw this." Pryor records the drama as a born storyteller would—in the details. And the detail that filters through his memory most clearly is the rhythm of Gertrude's speech, its combination of profanity and rhetoric. Not unlike a routine by Richard Pryor.
Pryor soon discovered humor—the only form of manipulation he had in his community of con artists, hookers, and pimps. "I wasn't much taller than my Daddy's shin when I found that I could make my family laugh," Pryor wrote.
I sat on a railing of bricks and found that when I fell off on purpose everyone laughed, including my grandmother, who made it her job to scare the shit out of people. . . . After a few more minutes of falling, a little dog wandered by and poo-pooed in our yard. I got up, ran to my grandmother, and slipped in the dog poop. It made Mama and the rest laugh again. Shit, I was really onto something then. So I did it a second time. "Look at that boy! He's crazy!" That was my first joke. All in shit.
When Pryor was ten years old, his mother left his father and went to stay with relatives in Springfield, Illinois, but Pryor stayed with his grandmother. In a biography by John and Dennis Williams, Pryor's teacher Marguerite Yingst Parker remembered him as "perpetually exhausted, sometimes lonely, always likable. . . . He was a poor black kid in what was then a predominantly white school, who didn't mingle with his classmates on the playground." Pryor often got through the tedium of school by entertaining his classmates. Eventually, Parker struck a deal with him: if he got to school on time, she would give him a few minutes each week to do a routine in front of the class. Not long afterward, Pryor met Juliette Whittaker, an instructor at the Carver Community Center. "He was about eleven, but looked younger because he was such a skinny little boy. And very bright," she recalled in the Williams book. "We were rehearsing 'Rumpelstiltskin' and he was watching. He asked if he could be in the play. I told him we only had one part left, and he said, 'I don't care. I'll take anything. I just want to be in the play.' . . . He took the script home and, unbeknownst to anybody, he memorized the entire thing."
When Pryor was in the eighth grade, a teacher who was fed up with his classroom routines asked him to leave school. He slowly became absorbed into the mundane working-class life that Peoria had to offer, taking a job at a packing plant, running errands. When he was seventeen, he discovered that the black woman he was seeing had also been sleeping with his father. Then, in an attempt to escape, Pryor enlisted in the Army, in 1958. He was stationed in Germany, where he was involved in a racial incident: a young white soldier laughed too hard about the painful black parts in the Douglas Sirk film "Imitation of Life," and Pryor and a number of other black inductees beat and stabbed him. Pryor went to jail, and when he was discharged, in 1960, he returned to his grandmother's twilight world of street life and women for hire.
Pryor had some idea of what he wanted to be: a comedian like the ones he had seen on TV, particularly the black comedians Dick Gregory and Redd Foxx. He began performing at small venues in Peoria, telling topical jokes in the cadence of the time: "You know how to give Mao Tse-tung artificial respiration? No. Good!" The humor then "was kind of rooted in the fifties," the comedian and actor Steve Martin told me. "Very straight jokes, you know. The dominant theme on television and in the public's eye was something Catskills. Jokes. Punch lines." And it was within that form that Pryor began to make a name for himself in the local clubs.
But Pryor was ambitious, and his ambition carried him away from Peoria. In 1961, he left behind his first wife and their child, "because I could," and began working the night-club circuit in places like East St. Louis, Buffalo, and Youngstown, Ohio. In 1963, he made his way to New York. "I opened Newsweek and read about Bill Cosby," Pryor told David Felton. "That fucked me up. I said, 'God damn it, this nigger's doin' what I'm fixin' to do. I want to be the only nigger, ain't no room for two niggers.' " In New York, Pryor began appearing regularly at Café Wha?. By 1966, he had begun to make it nationally. He appeared on a show hosted by Rudy Vallee called "On Broadway Tonight." Then on Ed Sullivan, Merv Griffin, and Johnny Carson—appearing each time with marcelled hair and wearing a black suit and tie that made him look like an undertaker. But his jokes were like placards that read "Joke": "When I was young I used to think my people didn't like me. Because they used to send me to the store for bread and then they'd move." Or "I heard a knock on the door. I said to my wife, 'There's a knock on the door.' My wife said, 'That's pecul-yar, we ain't got no door.' "
He was fêted as the new Bill Cosby by such show-business luminaries as Bobby Darin and Sid Caesar, and other comedians and writers counselled him to keep it that way: "Don't mention the fact that you're a nigger. Don't go into such bad taste," Pryor remembers being told by a white writer called Murray Roman. "They were gonna try to help me be nothin' as best they could," he said in the Rolling Stone interview. "The life I was leading, it wasn't me. I was a robot. Beep. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Sands Hotel. Maids are funny. Beep. . . . I didn't feel good. I didn't feel I could tell anybody to kiss my ass, 'cause I didn't have no ass, you dig?"
A drug habit kicked in. Then, in 1967, while Pryor was doing a show in Las Vegas, he broke down. "I looked out at the audience," Pryor wrote. "The first person I saw was Dean Martin, seated at one of the front tables. He was staring right back at me. . . . I checked out the rest of the audience. They were staring at me as intently as Dean, waiting for that first laugh. . . . I asked myself, Who're they looking at, Rich? . . . And in that flash of introspection when I was unable to find an answer, I crashed. . . . I finally spoke to the sold-out crowd: 'What the fuck am I doing here?' Then I turned and walked off the stage."
He was through with what he'd been doing: "I was a Negro for twenty-three years. I gave that shit up. No room for advancement."
In the following years—1968 through 1971—Pryor worked on material that became more or less what we know today as the Richard Pryor experience. A close friend, the comedian and writer Paul Mooney, took him to the looser, more politicized environs of Berkeley, and Pryor holed up there and wrote.
The black folklorist and novelist Zora Neale Hurston once wrote that, although she had "landed in the crib of negroism" at birth, it hadn't occurred to her until she left her home town that her identity merited a legitimate form of intellectual inquiry. It was only after Pryor had left Peoria and wrested a certain level of success from the world that he was able to see his own negroism, and what made it unique. As Mel Watkins writes, in his book "On the Real Side: Laughing, Lying, and Signifying," after Pryor moved to Berkeley and met the writers Cecil Brown and Ishmael Reed he discovered that "accredited intellectuals" could share "his affection and enthusiasm for the humor and lifestyles of common black folks." Pryor also discovered Malcolm X's speeches and Marvin Gaye's album "What's Going On." Both taught him how to treat himself as just another character in a story being told. He distanced himself from the more confessional Lenny Bruce—whose work had already influenced him to adopt a hipper approach to language—and "Richard Pryor" became no more important than the winos or junkies he talked about.
Pryor began to reconstruct himself first through the use of sound—imagining the sound of Frankenstein taking LSD, for example, or a baby "being birthed." His routines from this time regularly involved gurgles, air blown through pursed lips, beeps. He also began playing with individual words. He would stand in front of an audience and say "God damn" in every way he could think to say it. Or he'd say, "I feel," in a variety of ways that indicated the many different ways he could feel. And as he began to understand how he felt he began to see himself, to create his body before his audience. He talked about the way his breath and his farts smelled, what he wanted from love, where he had been, and what America thought he was.
In those years, Pryor began to create characters that were based on his own experience; he explored the territory and language of his family and his childhood—that fertile and unyielding ground that most artists visit again and again. The producer George Schlatter, who watched Pryor's transformation at a number of clubs in the late sixties and the early seventies, told me, "Richard grew up in a whorehouse. The language he used, he was entitled to it. Now the kids coming up, they use the word 'fuck' and that becomes the joke. Richard used the word 'fuck' on the way to the joke. It was part of his vocabulary. It was part of his life experience." As Pryor began to recall his relatives' voices, he became able to see them from the outside, not without a certain degree of fondness. "My aunt Maxine could suck a neckbone, it was a work of art," he'd say. Or:
My father was one of them eleven o'clock niggers. [Voice becoming more high-pitched] "Say, say, where you going, Richard? Say, huh? Well, nigger, you ain't ask nobody if you could go no place. What the fuck, you a man now, nigger? Get a job. I don't give a fuck where you go, be home by eleven. You understand eleven, don't you, nigger? You can tell time, can't you? . . . Eleven o'clock, bring your ass here. I don't mean down the street singing with them niggers, either. I ain't getting you ass out of jail no more, motherfucker. That's right. [Pause] And bring me back a paper."
Pryor's routines became richer in depth, in imagination—rather like the characters Edgar Lee Masters created for his brilliant, problematic "Spoon River Anthology." But the most popular and best-known of Pryor's characters—Mudbone, an old black man from Tupelo, Mississippi, whom Pryor created in 1975—also shows how a Pryor character can be too well drawn, too much of a crossover tool. Mudbone spoke with a strong Southern dialect and his tales were directly descended from the slave narratives that told (as the critic Darryl Pinckney described them) "of spirits riding people at night, of elixirs dearly bought from conjure men, chicken bones rubbed on those from whom love was wanted." From "Mudbone Goes to Hollywood":
OLD NEGRO MAN'S VOICE: There was an old man name was Mudbone. . . . And he used to sit right here in front of the barbecue shop and he'd dip snuff . . . and he'd spit. . . . He'd been in a great love affair. That right. He had a woman—he loved her very much—he had to hurt her though 'cause she fucked around on him. He said he knew she was fucking around 'cause I'd leave home and go to work and come back home, toilet seat be up. . . . So I set a little old trap for her there. Went to work early, you know, always did get up early, 'cause I like to hear the birds and shit. . . . So this particular morning, went on to work. Set my trap for this girl. She was pretty, too. Loved her. Sweet as she could be. Breast milk like Carnation milk. So I nailed the toilet seat down and doubled back and I caught that nigger trying to lift it up. So, say, Well, nigger, send your soul to heaven, 'cause your ass is mine up in here.
Mudbone was the character that Pryor's audiences requested again and again. But, as Pauline Kael noted in her review of "Live on the Sunset Strip," Pryor became tired of him: "Voices, ostensibly from the audience, can be heard. One of them calls, 'Do the Mudbone routine,' and, rather wearily, saying that it will be for the last time, Pryor sits on a stool and does the ancient storyteller [who] was considered one of his great creations. And the movie goes thud. . . . Pryor looks defeated."
And he should: Mudbone was the trick he turned and got tired of turning—a safe woolly-headed Negro, a comic version of Katherine Anne Porter's old Uncle Jimbilly. Compare Mudbone, for example, to the innovative and threatening "Bicentennial Nigger" character: "Some nigger two hundred years old in blackface. With stars and stripes on his forehead, lips just a-shining." "Battle Hymn" theme music, and Pryor's voice becomes Stepin Fetchit-like. "But he happy. He happy, 'cause he been here two hundred years. . . . Over here in America. 'I'm so glad you'll took me out of Dahomey.' " Shuckin' and jivin' laugh. " 'I used to could live to be a hundred and fifty, now I dies of the high blood pressure by the time I'm fifty-two.' "
By 1973, Richard Pryor had become a force in the entertainment industry. He now appeared regularly in such diverse venues as Redd Foxx's comedy club in Central L.A., where the clientele was mostly black, and the Improv, on Sunset Strip, which was frequented by white show-business hipsters. And he behaved as badly as he wanted to wherever he wanted to—whether with women, with alcohol, or with drugs. "I got plenty of money but I'm still a nigger," he told a radio interviewer. He had become Richard Pryor, the self-described "black greasy motherfucker," whose new style of entertainment was just one of many innovations of the decade—in music (Sly and the Family Stone and the Average White Band), in acting (Lily Tomlin and Ronnee Blakley), and in directing (Martin Scorsese and Hal Ashby). Cultural rebellion and political activism defined hip in Hollywood then—an era that is all too difficult to recall now.
"The idea of a black guy going out and saying he fucked a white woman was outrageous . . . but funny," Schlatter told me. "White women dug Richard because he was a naughty little boy, and they wanted some of that. He was talking about real things. Nobody was talking below the waist. Richard went right for the lap, man."
Pryor had directed a film called "Bon Appétit" a few years before—the footage is now lost. "The picture opened with a black maid having her pussy eaten at the breakfast table by the wealthy white man who owned the house where she worked," he recalled in "Pryor Convictions." "Then a gang of Black Panther types burst into the house and took him prisoner. As he was led away, the maid fixed her dress and called, 'Bon appétit, baby!' "
Each time someone asked why "that nigger was crazy," Pryor upped the ante by posing a more profound question. On a trip to a gun shop with David Felton in the early seventies, for example, Pryor asked the salesman, "How come all the targets are black?" The salesman smiled, embarrassed. "Uh, I don't know, Richard," he said, shaking his head. "I just—" "No, I mean I always wondered about that, you know?" Pryor said.
Pryor's edginess caught the attention of Mel Brooks, who was already an established Hollywood figure, and in 1972 Brooks hired him to work on a script called "Black Bart," the story of a smooth, Gucci-wearing black sheriff in the eighteen-seventies American West. This was to be Pryor's real crossover gig, not only as a writer but as an actor, but the leading role eventually went to Cleavon Little. Whatever the reason for not casting Pryor (some people who were involved with the movie told me that no one could deal with his drinking and his drug use), there are several scenes in the film (renamed "Blazing Saddles") that couldn't have been written by anyone else. One scene didn't make it in. It shows a German saloon singer, Lili von Dyke, in her darkened dressing room with Bart, whom she is trying to seduce.
LILI: Here, let me sit next to you. Tell me, schatzi, is it true vat zey say about the way you people are gifted? . . . Oh, oh, it's twue, it's twue, it's twue, it's twue.
BART: Excuse me, you're sucking my arm.
Pryor's best performances (in films he didn't write himself) date from these years. There is his poignant and striking Oscar-nominated appearance in Sidney J. Furie's 1972 film, "Lady Sings the Blues." As the Piano Man to Diana Ross's Billie Holiday, Pryor gives a performance that is as emotional and as surprising as his work in "Juke and Opal." And then there is his brilliant comic turn as Sharp-Eye Washington, the disreputable private detective in Sidney Poitier's 1974 film, "Uptown Saturday Night"—a character that makes use of Pryor's ability to convey paranoia with his body: throughout the movie, he looks like a giant exclamation point. And as Zeke Brown, in "Blue Collar," Paul Schrader's 1978 film about an automobile plant in Detroit, Pryor gives his greatest sustained—if fraught—film performance. In an interview with the writer Kevin Jackson, Schrader recalls his directorial début:
There were . . . problems. Part of it was to do with Richard's style of acting. Being primarily versed in stand-up comedy he had a creative life of between three and four takes. The first one would be good, the second would be real good, the third would be terrific, and the fourth would probably start to fall off. . . . The other thing Richard would do when he felt his performance going flat was to improvise and change the dialogue just like he would have done in front of a live audience, and he would never tell me or anyone what he was going to do.
Generally, though, Pryor had a laissez-faire attitude toward acting. One always feels, when looking at the work that he did in bad movies ranging from "You've Got to Walk It Like You Talk It or You'll Lose That Beat," in 1971, to "Superman III," released twelve years and twenty-seven films later, that Pryor had a kind of contempt for these mediocre projects—and for his part in them. Perhaps no character was as interesting to Richard Pryor as Richard Pryor. He certainly didn't work hard to make us believe that he was anyone other than himself as he walked through shameful duds like "Adiós Amigo." On the other hand, his fans paid all the love and all the money in the world to see him be himself: they fed his vanity, and his vanity kept him from being a great actor.
In September, 1977, Lily Tomlin asked Pryor to be part of a benefit at the Hollywood Bowl to oppose Proposition Six, a Californian anti-gay initiative. Onstage, Pryor started doing a routine about the first time he'd sucked dick. The primarily gay members of the audience hooted at first—but they didn't respond well to Pryor's frequent use of the word "faggot." Pryor's rhythm was thrown off. "Shit . . . this is really weird," he exploded. "This is an evening about human rights. And I am a human being. . . . I just wanted to test you to your motherfucking soul. I'm doing this shit for nuthin'. . . . When the niggers was burning down Watts, you motherfuckers was doin' what you wanted to do on Hollywood Boulevard . . . didn't give a shit about it." And as he walked offstage: "You Hollywood faggots can kiss my happy, rich black ass."
Pryor liked to tell the truth, but he couldn't always face it himself. Although he spent years searching for an idealized form of love, his relationships were explosive and short-lived. From 1969 to 1978, he had three serious relationships or marriages—two with white women, one with a black woman—and two children. There were also affairs with film stars such as Pam Grier and Margot Kidder, and one with a drag queen. He was repeatedly in trouble for beating up women and hotel clerks. His sometimes maudlin self-involvement when a woman left him rarely involved any kind of development or growth. It merely encouraged the self-pity that informed much of his emotional life.
By the late seventies, Pryor was freebasing so heavily that he left his bedroom only to go to work and even then only if he could smoke some more on the set. He was even more paranoid than he'd always been and showed very little interest in the world. The endless cycle of dependence—from the drinking to the coke to the other drugs he needed to come down from the coke—began to destroy his health. Then, in 1980, he tried to break the cycle by killing himself. He wrote his own account of the episode, in "Pryor Convictions":
After free-basing without interruption for several days in a row, I wasn't able to discern one day from the next. . . . "I know what I have to do," I mumbled. "I've brought shame to my family. . . . I've destroyed my career. I know what I have to do." . . . I reached for the cognac bottle on the table in front of me and poured it all over me. Real natural, methodical. As the liquid soiled my body and clothing, I wasn't scared. . . . I was in a place called There. . . . I picked up my Bic lighter. . . . WHOOSH! I was engulfed in flame. . . . Sprinting down the driveway, I went out the gates and ran down the street. . . . Two cops tried to help me. My hands and face were already swollen. My clothes burnt in tatters. And my smoldering chest smelled like a burned piece of meat. . . . "Is there?" I asked. "Is there what?" someone asked. "Oh Lord, there is no help for a poor widow's son, is there?"
Pryor was in critical condition at the Sherman Oaks Community Hospital for seven weeks. When Jennifer Lee—a white woman, whom he married a year later—went to visit him, he described himself as a "forty-year-old burned-up nigger." And, in a sense, Pryor never recovered from his suicide attempt. "Live on the Sunset Strip," which came out three years later, is less a pulled-together performance than the performance of a man trying to pull himself together. He could no longer tell the truth. He couldn't even take the truth. And, besides, people didn't want the truth (a forty-year-old burned-up nigger). They wanted Richard Pryor—"sick," but not ill.
Jennifer Lee was born and grew up in Ithaca, New York, one of three daughters of a wealthy lawyer. In her twenties, she moved to L.A. to become an actress, had affairs with Warren Beatty and Roman Polanski, and appeared in several B movies. She met Pryor in 1977, when she was hired to help redecorate his house. "We sat on an oversized brass bed in Richard's house," she wrote in an article for Spin magazine. "He was blue—heartsick over a woman who was 'running game' on him. He was putting a major dent in a big bottle of vodka. You could feel the tears and smell the gardenias, even with hip, white-walled nasal passages." Since that day, she told me, laughing, as we sat in the garden at the Château Marmont, in L.A., last winter, she has always been "the head bitch."
As Jennifer talked with me that afternoon, dressed in black leather pants and a black blazer, her white skin made even whiter by her maroon lipstick, I thought of the photographs I had seen of her with Pryor, some of which were reproduced in her 1991 memoir, "Tarnished Angel." These images were replaced by others: the white actress Shirley Knight berating Al Freeman, Jr., in the film version of Amiri Baraka's powerful play, "Dutchman," and Diane Arbus's haunting photograph of a pregnant white woman and her black husband sitting on a bench in Washington Square in the sixties. Then I thought of Pryor's routines on interracial sex. From "Black Man, White Woman":
Don't ever marry a white woman in California. A lot of you sisters probably saying "Don't marry a white woman anyway, nigger." [Pause] Shit. . . . Sisters look at you like you killed yo' Mama when you out with a white woman. You can't laugh that shit off, either. [High-pitched, fake-jovial voice] "Ha ha she's not with me."
From a routine entitled "Black & White Women":
There really is a difference between white women and black women. I've dated both. Yes, I have. . . . Black women, you be suckin' on their pussy and they be like, "Wait, nigger, shit. A little more to the left, motherfucker. You gonna suck the motherfucker, get down." You can fuck white women and if they don't come they say, "It's all right, I'll just lay here and use a vibrator."
Pryor was not only an integrationist but an integrationist of white women and black men, one of the most taboo adult relationships. The judgments that surround any interracial couple: White girls who are into black dudes are sluts. White dudes aren't enough for them; only a big-dicked black guy can satisfy them. Black dudes who are into white girls don't like their kind. And, well, you know how they treat their women: they abuse them; any white girl who goes out with one is a masochist. The air in America is thick with these misconceptions, and in the seventies it was thicker still. Plays and films like "A Taste of Honey," "A Patch of Blue," "Deep Are the Roots," "All God's Chillun' Got Wings," and "The Great White Hope" gave a view of the black man as both destroyer and nursemaid to a galaxy of white women who were sure to bring him down. But no real relationships exist in these works. The black male protagonists are more illustration than character. (Though they make excellent theatrical agitprop: what a surplus of symbols dangles from their mythic oversized penises!) In his work, Pryor was one of the first black artists to unknot the narrative of that desire and to expose it. In life he had to live through it as painfully as anyone else.
When Jennifer Lee first slept with Pryor, she told me, she touched his hair and he recoiled: its texture was all the difference in the world between them. That difference is part of the attraction for both members of interracial couples. "Ain't no such thing as an ugly white woman," says a character in Eldridge Cleaver's 1968 polemic, "Soul on Ice." In some ways Pryor found it easier to be involved with white women than with black women: he could blame their misunderstandings on race, and he could take advantage of the guilt they felt for what he suffered as a black man.
Yet, while Pryor may have felt both attracted by and ashamed of his difference from Lee, he also pursued her through all his drug blindness and self-absorption because he saw something of himself in her. "What no one gets," Lee told me, "is that one of the ways Richard became popular was through women falling in love with him—they saw themselves in him, in his not fitting in, the solitude of it all, and his willingness to be vulnerable as women are. And disenfranchised, of course, as women are." That black men and white women were drawn to each other through their oppression by white men was a concept I had first seen expressed in the feminist Shulamith Firestone's book "The Dialectic of Sex." There is a bond in oppression, certainly, but also a rift because of it—a contempt for the other who marks you as different—which explains why interracial romance is so often informed by violence. Cleaver claimed that he raped white women because that was the only kind of empowerment he could find in his brutal world. At times, Pryor directed a similar rage at Jennifer Lee, and she, at times, returned it.
Life in the eighties: Pryor gets up. Does drugs. Drives over to the Comedy Store to work out a routine. Has an argument with Jennifer after a party. Maybe they fly to Hawaii. Come back in a week or so. Some days, Pryor is relaxed in his vulnerability. Other days, he tries to throw her out of the car. Richard's Uncle Dickie says about Jennifer, who is from an Irish family, "Irish are niggers turned inside out." Richard says about Jennifer, "The tragedy was that Jennifer could keep up with me." And she did. They married in 1981. They divorced in 1982.
With Lee, Pryor took the same trajectory that he had followed with many women before her. He began with a nearly maudlin reverence for her beauty and ended with paranoia and violence. In "Tarnished Angel," Lee describes Pryor photographing her as she was being sexually attacked by a drug dealer he hung out with—a lowlife in the tradition of the people he had grown up with. Pryor could be brutally dissociative and sadistic, especially with people he cared about: he did not separate their degradation from his own. He was also pleased when Lee was jealous of the other women he invariably became involved with. And when she left him, she claims, he stalked her.
Pryor got married again in 1986, to Flynn Be-Laine, two years after she'd given birth to his son Steven. Lee moved back to New York, where she wrote a challenging review of Pryor's film "Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling," for People:
Well, Richard, you blew it. I went to see "Jo Jo Dancer." . . . I went looking for the truth, the real skinny. Well, guess what? It wasn't there. . . . How sad. After all, it was you who was obsessed by the truth, be it onstage or in your private life. . . . You had no sacred cows. That's why I fell in love with you, why I hung in through the wonder and madness. . . . Listen to your white honky bitch, Richard: Ya gotta walk it like you talk it or you'll lose that beat.
But later the same year, when Lee interviewed Pryor for Spin, they had reached a kind of détente:
LEE: What about the rage, the demons?
PRYOR: They don't rage much anymore.
LEE: Like a tired old monster?
PRYOR: Very tired. He hath consumed me.
LEE: Has this lack of rage quieted your need to do standup?
PRYOR: Something has. I'm glad it happened after I made money.
Pryor had gone sober in 1983 and he soon recognized that, along with alcohol, he needed to relinquish some of the ruthless internal navigations that had given his comedy its power. He performed live less and less. There were flashes of the old brilliance: on Johnny Carson, for example, when he responded to false rumors that he had AIDS. And when his public raised its fickle refrain—"He's sick, he's washed up"—he often rallied, but in the last eight years of his performing life he became a more conventional presence.
Pryor divorced Flynn in 1991, and in 1994 he placed a call to Jennifer. He was suffering from degenerative multiple sclerosis, he told her, and wouldn't be able to work much longer. "He said, 'My life's a mess. Will you help me out?' " she recalls. "I thought long and hard about it. . . . I wasn't sure it would last, because Richard loves to manipulate people and see them dance. But, see, he can't do that anymore, because he finally bottomed. That's the only reason Richard is allowing his life to be in any kind of order right now."
Lee came back to Pryor in July of that year. "When I got there, he was in this ridiculous rental for, like, six thousand dollars a month," she told me. "Five bedrooms, seven bathrooms. Honey, it was classic. You couldn't write it better." Lee helped him to find a smaller house in Encino, and she has cared for him since then. He has two caregivers and is bathed and dressed in a collaborative effort that has shades of Fellini. He spends his days in a custom-made wheelchair, while others read to him or give him physical or speech therapy. Every Friday, he goes to the movies. According to Lee, he can speak well when he wants to, but he doesn't often want to. "Sometimes he'll say, 'Leave me the fuck alone, Jenny,' " she tells me, laughing. "Just the other day, Richard was sitting, staring out the window, and his caregiver said, 'Mr. Richard, what are you thinking about?' He said, 'I'm thinking about how much money I pay all you motherfuckers.' " He doesn't see his children much, or his other ex-wives, or the people he knew when he still said things like "I dig show business. I do. . . . I wake up every morning and I kiss it. Show business, you fine bitch."
"Was that corny?" Lily Tomlin said to me one afternoon last winter when I told her I'd heard that certain CBS executives hadn't wanted her to kiss Pryor good night at the close of "Lily," back in 1973. After all, Pryor was then a disreputable black comic with an infamous foul mouth, and Lily Tomlin had just come from "Laugh-In," where she had attracted nationwide attention. Tomlin kissed him anyway, and it was, I think, the first time I had ever seen a white woman kiss a black man—I was twelve—and it was almost certainly the first time I had ever seen Richard Pryor.
Tomlin and I were sitting with Jane Wagner, her partner and writer for thirty years, in a Cuban restaurant—one of their favorite places in Los Angeles. Tomlin and Wagner were the only white people there.
"We just loved Richard," Tomlin told me. "He was the only one who could move you to tears. No one was funnier, dearer, darker, heavier, stronger, more radical. He was everything. And his humanity was just glorious."
"What a miracle 'Juke and Opal' got on," Wagner said. "The network treated us as if we were total political radicals. I guess we were. And they hated Richard. They were so threatened by him."
CBS had insisted that Tomlin and Wagner move "Juke and Opal" to the end of the show, so that people wouldn't switch channels in the middle, bringing down the ratings. "It threw the whole shape of the show off," Tomlin recalled in a 1974 interview. "It made 'Juke and Opal' seem like some sort of Big Message, which is not what I intended. . . . I wasn't out to make any, uh, heavy statements, any real judgments."
"Everybody kept saying it wasn't funny, but we wanted to do little poems. I mean, when you think of doing a drug addict in prime time!" Wagner told me. And what they did is a poem of sorts. It was one of the all too few opportunities that Tomlin had to showcase, on national television, the kind of performance she and Pryor pioneered.
"Lily and Richard were a revolution, because they based what they did on real life, its possibilities," Lorne Michaels, the producer of "Saturday Night Live," told me. "You couldn't do that kind of work now on network television, because no one would understand it. . . . Lily and Richard were the exemplars of a kind of craft. They told us there was a revolution coming in the field of entertainment, and we kept looking to the left, and it didn't come."
It is odd to think that Richard Pryor's period of pronounced popularity and power lasted for only a decade, really—from 1970 to 1980. But comedy is rock and roll, and Pryor had his share of hits. The enormous territory he carved out for himself remains more or less his own. Not that it hasn't been scavenged by other comedians: Eddie Murphy takes on Pryor's belligerent side, Martin Lawrence his fearful side, Chris Rock his hysteria, Eddie Griffin his ghoulish goofiness. But none of these comedians approaches Pryor's fundamental strangeness, vulnerability, or political intensity. Still, their work demonstrates the power of his influence: none of them would exist at all were it not for Richard Pryor. The actor Richard Belzer described him to me as "the ultimate artistic beacon." "It was like he was the sun and we were planets," Belzer said. "He was the ultimate. He took socially complex situations and made you think about them, and yet you laughed. He's so brilliantly funny, it was revelatory. He's one of those rare people who define a medium."
According to Lee, Pryor has been approached by a number of artists who see something of themselves in him. Damon Wayans and Chris Rock wanted to star in a film version of Pryor's life. The Hughes Brothers expressed interest in making a documentary. In 1998, the Kennedy Center gave Pryor its first Mark Twain Prize, and Chevy Chase, Whoopi Goldberg, Robin Williams, and others gathered to pay tribute to him. Pryor's written acceptance of the award, however, shows a somewhat reluctant acknowledgment of his status as an icon: "It is nice to be regarded on par with a great white man—now that's funny!" he wrote. "Seriously, though, two things people throughout history have had in common are hatred and humor. I am proud that, like Mark Twain, I have been able to use humor to lessen people's hatred!"
In some ways, Pryor probably realizes that his legendary status has weakened the subversive impact of his work. People are quick to make monuments of anything they live long enough to control. It's not difficult to see how historians will view him in the future. An edgy comedian. A Mudbone. But will they take into account the rest of his story: that essentially American life, full of contradictions; the life of a comedian who had an excess of both empathy and disdain for his audience, who exhausted himself in his search for love, who was a confusion of female and male, colored and white, and who acted out this internal drama onstage for our entertainment. ♦


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STLR Link Roundup – November 20, 2009
The latest on the STLR radar: Google announces that Google Scholar will now search "full text legal opinions from U.S. federal and state district, appellate and supreme courts" as well as legal journal articles. Columbia Law School's own Tim Wu is one of several acknowledged parties in the announcement, for his work on AltLaw. Competition among flat-panel TV makers to produce more energy-efficient TVs is no longer just a marketing issue in California – it's Continue Reading →


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Great article, and great site over all. Keep up the great work.
Much like trying to get a unique domain name these days, getting an unused name for yourself/group is a bit more complicated that it once was. Even if you do have an original name, getting people to hear your music before you have any fans can seem almost impossible. With some clever thinking and hard work, it can all be done without spending a dime.
So let's get right to it – you want to upload your music, photo and bio to the internet, without being lost in a sea of obscurity. It's understandable how it can happen to even the most talented artists. As mentioned before, it's not necessary to spend any money in promotion to get great results. It's also not something that happens overnight.
Establishing your music online ten years ago was an amazing experience. I remember posting tracks made with a Yamaha DJX onto MP3.com, a couple years after it first launched in 1997. I uploaded the music to the Hip-Hop category, and within a few weeks, I had over 47 downloads (this was before streaming was typical, and AOL's 56k internet connections were still running most of the US). Fast forward a decade later, and you are lucky if your band's name hasn't already been taken by at least three or four different groups across the web.
Here is a list of 8 tips for getting your music heard:
Here is an example of what can happen when luck plays out in your favor, along with using the methods outlined above. This screenshot was taken in 2006 on music.download.com, which is now last.fm:
If you have any tips to share, please post them in the comments below.
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Great article, and great site over all. Keep up the great work.
good advice
Great article! Thaks
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thanks 4 the advice. For an upcoming music maker, this is the stepping stone i needed coming fresh into the game.
This was very well written . Great read, not too long but a lot of really good information. Good job, keep it up! .
Great article!!
To help u guys out, heres a website that i use that works great for promoting!
Its called: http://www.talenttrove.com :]
Check out my music: myspace.com/solitarymovementmusic
Youtube search: "solitary movement"
Good shit, nothing new! Keep up the good work!
Great advice! Thanks alot I really appreciate people that are trying to help out any new and upcoming talent! Check out my websites: http://www.myspace.com/uniquethefuture and http://www.myspace.com/uniqu3isthebestrapperever
emule has got some good inventory of free music.,*:
Hello to all the unsigned artist out there,my name is (BigTony) I'am from Annapolis,Md..I run a up and coming management company called (J.T.M Management) i have my first group they are called (FAMCAMP) They are a group of brothers and cousins also from Annapolis,md…. J.T.M Management and FAMCAMP goal is to bring back real HipHop (NO GIMMICK RAP) Our mission is to bring back balance in this Hip Hop game…Make songs that have meaning to them again, Not just songs about bling bling, when 97% of the rappers don't have any way….But songs with real Hip Hop meaning,No talking about killing each other but how we can do for each other………Just like (GRANDMASTER FLASH)DID & (PUBLIC ENEMY) (RUN DMC) (KURTIS BLOW) (NAS) (ERIC B & RAKEM)
I think you get my point…..Its time for the real hip hop and where here to bring it BACK……
For Bookings Call (BigTony) @ 770-274-8923
Band Members
Tyrone (T-y) Mitchell
Tyrell (BigRell) Mitchell
Kernell (Kay-Nellz) Hunt
Tony (Tone Mitch) Mitchell Jr
Davonta' (The God) Wright
Charles (Gunz) Rogers
Eugene (Uwally) Rogers
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Great info will definately take it on board, great work guys.
Wassup everybody this ya boy Toddy Mac!!!! im a up and comin artist who is about to hand my cd to birdman and lil wayne. when he gets out on nov 6 he will b hearing it. i want you guys to b the judge of it first!!!! here goes my website you can here my music on there as well as go to my youtube, twitter and ect. Please help support me even while i aint at the top yet cause one day i will b! http://www.wix.com/toddymac/toddymac
i can see lots of free music on the internet but most of them are pirated. ',-
whatz good world? my lyfe couldnt fall apart any worse, im livin out my car wit a job that doesnt pay shit now and my family basically doesnt giv a rats ass bout me and more now than eva i need 2 b heard..i need 2 prove i got sumthn unique and deserve a chance by a record label, jus watch tha videos and listen 2 tha muzic and sum1 giv me that shot
Getting your music heard through different types is very important, I suggest you make a songfountain.com and last.fm site right away and start building your audience
I'd have to disagree with 1 and 2
I'd have to disagree with 1 and 2.
Daaaaaaayum! MP3.com! Yall go back quite a ways! I used to jump on there in like '02… Back when Anno Domini, Wyshmaster, and ummmm…Damn, what's his name…Anyway, they used to dominate back then.
Anno Domini's still doin it on soundclick.
Great article! Don't forget the offline hustle as well.
Awesome! Thanks for the tips!
Like they said, great article. It's very helpful and is bringing me closer to my goal.
Thank you.
Danyosorapnicent @ twitter,YouTube,myspace,Facebook wherever you want to find me.
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Great advice, straight to the point and helpful in every way.
Did some digging and i see you have an all around excellent website to.
Nice work with the site itself.
This means alot to a beginner like me to be able to take advantage of advice this well thought out, very much appreciated.
Great read, thank you for all of you suggestions…I think #1 "Register your band info to as many websites as possible." is really great advice as long as you are able to keep up with EVERY single web site you post to. There is nothing more diappointing than finding a new artist somewhere and all their contact info or links are all out of date. I'm passionate about music, so I'll look further, but most people wont.
Thanks again for posting!!
Thanks for this great advice! I'm actually producing electronic/dubstep music and I believe these principles could apply to any genre, not just hip hop
I Disagree with no1……waste of time, make sure you join the MAIN social networks.. & All the others that you do join, can CONNECT to facebook etc….not EVERY website, this is the mistake of many, also do not spam walls on facebook, Most artists do NOT even say hello, big MITAKE…it is NOT myspace where there is no rules or MANNERS. ps: Myspace is a waste of time, use it for a url, nothing more, it's like standing in a hall yelling the same story/speel over and over….nothing eventuates. STOP fanning musicians, you want the ley person not muso's See my blogs :http://bit.ly/pUWsY8 xox Haych
hey, if you like to make a music video in Trinidad & Tobago where the scenery is magnificent and the culture pumping, pls contact me.
These articles motivate me as an artist, because in the long mist of promoting your music avidly like I do, core tips like these remind the artist of the long term rewards of the daliy grind, because I know for a fact anyone who has made in this industry faced rejections, even if they followed a plan. Consistancy is the key, and I plan to someday master that!!!#TEAMMDSE
Mane ive ben n da rap game eva since 10 nd iz 15 rite na. HMU! PLZ!!!!
very good advice.
Thanks for the advice please check out yungaceswag.com for some good music. Also youtube.com/yungaceswag. Thanks and I would appreciate some feedback.
thanks for the tips, got no money at all so it is very much appreciated.
If anyone is interested in listening to some of my tracks and wants to download them for free then check out my page.
Great article. There is a great group there really changing the game. They make great music with no profanity. Here is there website, I'm sure you all enjoy. >> http://www.ballnchainent.blogspot.com/ << Once again great article, very useful points.
this is a goog realistic article
I appreciate the help!
Well Thanks this helped a lot btw dont forget to check me out
gimmie some feedback
pretty good article. needs a list of more sites.. If you are into real HipHop , then check this label out. They are looking for talent -
real hip hop – http://soundcloud.com/100puresent/large Label looking for talent
Another really cool site to get your music out there is Exposed Vocals. ExposedVocals.com sends your music to radio stations and everything. Not sure, but I don't think they charge either!
Great article, definitely worth a read!!
I found this very insightful and educational.
Thanks very helpful I found that networking in person is also a very big boost if you show other bands that your willing to go to their show they are more likely to remember you and thus a better connection is made leading to more connections through them this method has helped me really increase the quality of my recordings, music and music videos
What a great article really helped me alot!!!!
NEW MUSIC OUT NOW AT http://www.soundcloud.com/g-ro
Great article..Very clear and concise and inspirational in that I know can see that it really is possible to go about this as an independent.
With regards to the humble point-if you do get a moment to offer feedback for music could you check out the following…
Your opinion would be greatly recieved.
I am a fairly new producer and trying my hardest to learn the trade.
I would really like to say thanks for the really strong advice,
very clear and concise.
I will apply these methods to my madness and see what happens.
Would love some honest feed Back on my music, so please check out my sound cloud link and tell me what you think and maybe some pointers of where i could head.
thanks again guys
Regards cee-jaye
Hey guys! I'm trying to make a name for myself in the music world. Here's a link to my EP that was released on July 13th. Let me know what you think. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE share to your friends!! You will like it!
I'm a 19 year old Las Vegas rapper trying to make it as an artist and be heard check my music out and share it soundcloud.com/pookygmm FMOT @POOky_G and InstaGram ; pookygmm I'd really appreciate it.
I manage Tr3sqmusic. They have performed only on the east coast. They rap and sing. A group of young men that are trying to turn their negative lifestyles around but the community wont let them.
What if your music is fire and you still cant get a large audience to hear it? How do you get a large audience to listen?
That was some good stuff man. I am 59 years old now and always loved music now getting ready to retire very soon , my son turned me on to fl studio, now I am doing some things with it and actually made a few songs, so all and all things for all the info I get from you and all the other people out helping with comments and feed backs. " Peace to All "


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AMA's flagship publication, Model Aviation, just released the February 2013 issue. On page 79 in Bob Aberle's Frequently Asked Questions column, there is a very nice write-up about this website. Thank you! Here is a direct link to the free plans websites the article mentioned.
A look at this intriguing emerging technology.
Got a motor without a label? Here is a strategy for figuring out what it can do.
What does this mean to our RC LiPo battery future?
Continue reading "A123 Systems Files for Bankruptcy Protection" »
The drone revolution is a global phenomenon. Take a look at what is going on outside the United States.
After a major disappointment last Wednesday with a last minute aborted launch, the Stratos team redeems itself.
Continue reading "Red Bull Stratos: Mission Accomplished!" »
Challenge accepted! A website member has come up with a fascinating solution to my challenge from two weeks ago.
Continue reading "Simplified Motor and Propeller Selection Method" »
These videos are a real drag, but do not let that keep you from watching them.
What was I thinking? Let me explain the logic behind my electric model airplane power system sizing rule.


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Say what you will about 'fixed gear culture' and its obsession with filming itself. I agree. I read Bike Snob NYC too! But the kids behind this film are rather earnest and their intentions are good. I've seen parts of it and it's definitely better than similar ones.
My bias may be that I won. I didn't get most of the prizes (different kids put it on then made the film) because afterward was our annual Thanksgiving vegan potluck, Circle of Dead Pilgrims and I missed the drunken fixed gear freestyle fest where they were given out. Our dinner was Italian-themed, so it was probably worth it. Anyway, check out the screening if this sort of event interests you.
Stairways to Heaven-Preview from The Bicinity on Vimeo.


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bazaar wrote:... on peut au moins modifier nos notes, je n'ai pas tout rempli les champs...
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