Chinesepod's Carlie discusses the meaning of the name 'Huawei' in light of the recent national security concerns of the Whitehouse
The night started with salad and finished with applause. My 7 p.m. breakfast and beer were late, but John Gorka was right on time. His bearded, old-stoner and goofy demeanor reminded me of musicians I stopped listening to, in prepubescent close-minded lives spent with winos in the lower east side, but that I could now appreciate. He did a wonderful job of translating poem to music, and if I had to, I'd quietly do it all over again. Richie Havens did not perform alone, and even his guitar had two pick-guards. It became evident to me the man spent a lot of time in silk rooms with overstuffed chairs and gold-trimmed-maroon-velvet curtains; with the shades drawn at 11 p.m. with wine and maybe some followers of the opium tea and LSD trade, though Havens may have had nothing to do with that part of the scene. His renditions and smooth transitions between songs were perfect and unnoticeable until you really heard the words he was singing, which is how it should be done if you're going to play from one song into another without taking a pause. At the end of it all, I felt reminded of a part of musical culture I had forgotten in the Hipster Realm of things owned by the Strokes and even The Beatles: a chuga-chuga pipe train of chill that grabs passion at the spine and fills the mind with a good kind of haze.