...and..3..2..1...we’re live... Give it a spin. Apple - music.apple.com/us/album/evi… Spotify - open.spotify.com/album/5Rbt2…

An album that has been a favorite for years.

I miss the 90's 😩

Meghan Fox’s new commercial makes my heart sink. What the hell are we doing..

King Harvest wrote it, Toploader made it feel like a summer evening. Still one of my favorite covers.

One of those records everybody should know. Freddie Hubbard, George Coleman, Ron Carter, Tony Williams and Herbie leaving just enough space for all of them. A perfect jazz album.

Happy 82nd birthday to Eddie Gomez! The Bill Evans Trio’s bassist for 11 years, later with Steps Ahead and Chick Corea. Known for quick reflexes, lyrical solos, and a huge body of work as both sideman and leader.

This is what absolute beauty looks like and sounds like in a melody that rings in your heart. Optimistic and the embodiment of love. This is what a perfect melody can conjure in the just a few notes.

The bass player is absolutely going nuts on this song. “Middle Of The Night” has become one of my favorite songs at the moment.

I don’t know why, but whatever she does brings me peace 😆

Happy birthday to Gal Costa, born on this day in 1945! A captivating voice of Brazilian music, she brought warmth, emotion, and a fearless spirit to bossa nova, tropicalia, and MPB.

A bird's-eye view of a Martian storm 🌪 The Mars Express spacecraft captured a massive dust storm descending the slopes of the volcano Pavonis Mons. The Martian moon Phobos also appears in the frame, strikingly complementing the cosmic landscape.

Feel the energy and the heat. The Blues flying low. 🇺🇸🔥🫡 H/T akplanespotters

The most famous bar in American music never made it onto a map. It was a dim cocktail lounge on Wilshire Boulevard called The Executive Room, the kind of place where the ice melted faster than the conversations and the piano player was paid in union scale, free drinks, and whatever strangers stuffed in a glass jar. In 1971, a twenty-two-year-old from Hicksville signed a ten-album deal so lopsided it might as well have been written in disappearing ink. Family Productions owned his songs, his name, his future. Then they botched the mastering of his debut, *Cold Spring Harbor*, so the record played too fast and Billy Joel’s voice came out sounding like a helium cartoon of itself. The album sank. The contract remained. So he vanished. He left New York with his girlfriend, Elizabeth Weber, and surfaced in Los Angeles as Bill Martin—not even a real alias, just the first two names of William Martin Joel, the parts the label didn’t own yet. Six nights a week, after dinner until two in the morning, he sat at a piano in that smoky room and bluffed his way through requests: Hoagy Carmichael, the Beatles, whatever was on the radio, whatever would keep the bills paid and the lawyers working. The regulars had no idea the kid at the keys was taking notes. John really was the bartender—quick with a joke, certain he could have been a movie star if the world had only noticed. Paul really was a real-estate broker who sat at the same stool night after night, insisting he was writing the Great American Novel, a book that never seemed to leave the bar. Davy really was in the Navy, and Joel later said he probably still was. The waitress “practicing politics” while the businessmen got slowly stoned was Elizabeth herself, working the room so the couple could make rent. They put bread in his jar. They meant it when they asked, Man, what are you doing here? They could hear it. The guy was too good for the room. Joel heard it too. Mid-shift, mid-drink, mid-humiliation, a thought arrived that would outlive every regular in the place: *I’ve got to get a song out of this.* He built it the way a bartender builds a tab—character by character, week after week. A waltz-time melody. A narrator who doesn’t preach, just watches. A chorus the crowd already knew how to sing because they were already living it. Within a year Columbia Records found him, pried him loose from the old contract, and turned six months of hiding into the song that would follow him for the rest of his life. The Executive Room is a parking lot now. John, Paul, Davy, and the rest became immortal without ever leaving their stools. The piano man was never just playing for them. He was writing them down before they disappeared.

Little guy absolutely crushes it, and his dad can’t help but jump in too!♥️

Rise and shine humans. 🌞☕️🐎🇺🇸

William Rodriguez's testimony was removed from the 9/11 commission report.

Aaron Rodgers... "Covid was a multi-trillion dollar worldwide Psyop meant to see how much they can control us. That’s why people dislike me… because I don’t give a shit. I’m going to tell the truth." "Governments, media, tech platforms, and pharmaceutical companies all moved in lockstep. Billions were spent. Dissent was punished. Questions were treated as moral failures. The goal wasn’t public health. It was to measure how quickly people would surrender their judgment, their jobs, their kids' education, and their right to say "no." "85% of people complied. They took the shots, accepted the mandates, and then acted shocked when the same institutions that sold them certainty started walking it back. A lot of them still can’t admit it was a test of compliance. They’d rather keep calling people like me dangerous than look at the data, the lab-leak evidence, the shifting narratives, or the damage done to kids and small businesses." "That’s why some people still hate me. Not because of football. Because I wouldn’t play along. I said I was immunized when I meant I had my own protocol. I refused the product. I called Fauci what he is. I pointed out that a captured media and a captured public-health apparatus don’t get to lecture anyone about "the science." And I’m not going to start lying now just because it’s easier." "I don’t give a shit about the cost. I’m going to tell the truth. The experiment happened. Most people failed it. A smaller group noticed in real time and refused to pretend otherwise. That’s the only scoreboard that still matters."

Exoplanet.. The sky over Argentina looked like it was melting upward. After a violent storm passed, rare mammatus clouds hung beneath the anvil like rows of heavy, frozen pouches. They form when pockets of ice and moisture sink through drier air, dragging the cloud base into those distinctive, bulbous sags. The result is one of nature’s strangest ceilings: a storm’s leftover architecture, briefly sculpted in ice and hanging over the plains before it dissolves. By Top-Marionberry-

If this doesn't make you smile, nothing will..

3 Easy Jazz Blues Licks 😎 (with 2 Ingredients) #jazzblues You can do A LOT with very simple things! 1️⃣ The Blues Pivot 2️⃣ Double-stop 3️⃣ Some dissonance! What do you think? Get the PDF and backing track on Patreon: patreon.com/posts/138494152