Bebop Quotes

I want to be untouchable and beautiful and completely dead inside.

Hackers are nerdy, pasty, tubby, little geeks with triple thick glasses and this is probably a demented otaku with smelly feet. So catching him will be a breeze!

Whatever happens, happens.

I'm watching a dream I'll never wake up from. -Spike Speigel

Angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils.

It's important to tell your story. It's important to listen.

When they first kiss, there on the beach, they will kneel at the edge of the Pacific and say a prayer of thanks, sending all the stories of love inside them out in a fleet of bottles all across the oceans of the world.

Radical Edwards's profile? He's a seven-foot tall ex-basketball pro hindu guru drag-queen alien. -Jet Black, from the Cowboy Bebop anime script

I wrote poetry from the time I could write. That was the only way I could begin to express who I was but the poems didn't make sense to my teachers. They didn't rhyme. They were about the wind sounds, the planets' motions, never about who I was or how I felt. I didn't think I felt anything. I was this mind more than a body or a heart. My mind photographing the stars, hearing the wind.

There have been two great revelations in my life: The first was bepop, the second was homeopathy.

We are all in “the perpetual quest for keeping oneself occupied, entertained, and important—which burns at the edge of addiction.

Man always thinks about the past before he dies, as if he were frantically searching for proof that he truly lived.

And I like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but the priceless gift that African Americans gave the world when they were still in slavery was a gift so great that it is now almost the only reason many foreigners still like us at least a little bit. That specific remedy for the worldwide epidemic of depression is a gift called the blues. All pop music today-jazz, swing, be-bop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock and roll, hip hop and on and on- is derived from the blues.

Think about the word destroy. Do you know what it is? De-story. Destroy. Destory. You see. And restore. That's re-story. Do you know that only two things have been proven to help survivors of the Holocaust? Massage is one. Telling their story is another. Being touched and touching. Telling your story is touching. It sets you free.

The word “holiday” comes from “holy day” and holy means “exalted and worthy of complete devotion.” By that definition, all days are holy. Life is holy. Atheists have joy every day of the year, every holy day. We have the wonder and glory of life. We have joy in the world before the lord is come. We’re not going for the promise of life after death; we’re celebrating life before death. The smiles of children. The screaming, the bitching, the horrific whining of one’s own children. The glory of giving or receiving a blow job. Sunsets, rock and roll, bebop, Jell-O, stinky cheese, and offensive jokes. For atheists, everything in the world is enough and every day is holy. Every day is an atheist holiday. It’s a day that we’re alive.

What Happens, Happens.

it ain't as hard as picking cotton

It's taken me all my life to learn what not to play.

Each of us has a family tree full of stories inside of us, Dirk thought. Each of us has a story blossoming out of us.

Bang...

It was a gross, tasteless thing to say – my brain had been burping up such inappropriate thoughts at inopportune moments. Mental gas I couldn’t control. Like, I’d started internally singing the lyrics to ‘Bony Moronie’ whenever I saw my cop friend. She’s as skinny as a stick of macaroni, my brain would bebop as Detective Rhonda Boney was telling me about dragging the river for my missing wife. Defense mechanism, I told myself, just a weird defense mechanism. I’d like it to stop.

Each time we kill the boss it has a different name. First, it was Bethany, then Badrick, then Bebop, and finally Bob.

Grandma Fifi had two friends named Martin and Merlin who were afraid in a way Dirk didn't want to be. They were both very handsome and kind and always brought candies and toys when they came over for tea and Fifi's famous pastries. But as much as Dirk liked Martin and Merlin he knew he was different from them. They talked in voices as pale and soft as the shirts they wore and they moved as gracefully as Fifi did. Their eyes were startled and sad. They had been hurt because of who they were. Dirk didn't want to be hurt that way. He wanted to be strong and to love someone who was strong; he wanted to meet any gaze, to laugh under the brightest sunlight and never hide.

Spike Spiegel: Hey, Jet, did you know that there are three things that I hate? Jet Black: Whatever... Spike Spiegel: Kids... animals... and women with atitude. Jet Black: Oh? Spike Spiegel: So why do we have all three neatly gathered on our ship!

Grave of the Fireflies, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Cowboy Bebop, The Vision of Escaflowne, Rurouni Kenshin, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Trigun, The Slayers, and my personal favorite, Ghost in the Shell.

Early mornings were given over to Bartok and Schoenberg. Midmorning I treated myself to the vocals of Billy Eckstine, Billie Holiday, Nat Cole, Louis Jordan and Bull Moose Jackson. A piroshki from the Russian delicatessen next door was lunch and then the giants of bebop flipped through the air. Charlie Parker and Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Sarah Vaughan and Al Haig and Howard McGhee. Blues belonged to late afternoons and the singers’ lyrics of lost love spoke to my solitude.

MAMBO SUN" "Beneath the bebop moon I want to croon with you Beneath the Mambo Sun I got to be the one with you My life's a shadowless horse If I can't get across to you In the alligator rain My heart's all pain for you Girl you're good And I've got wild knees for you On a mountain range I'm Dr. Strange for you Upon a savage lake Make no mistake I love you I got a powder-keg leg And my wig's all pooped for you With my hat in my hand I'm a hungry man for you I got stars in my beard And I feel real weird for you Beneath the bebop moon I'm howling like a loon for you Beneath the mumbo sun I've got to be the one for you

Everything is clearer now. Life is just a dream, you know, that's never ending.

After Hiroshima, the musicians understood as early as anyone that Truman's bomb changed everything and only scat and bebop could say how.

What’s a Velvet Underground?” he said. “You wouldn’t like it,” said Crowley. “Oh,” said the angel dismissively. “Be-bop.

A man isn't his money or his looks. What's important...is that he has a reason for being who he is." - Faye

We took a jaunt and played bebop, Lived our life with a peacefull heart, There came demon so called as qualm, To take our glee and to give us grief, Now our dotage love endedup in hell!

Everything has a beginning and an end. Life is just a cycle of starts and stops. There are ends we don't desire, but they're inevitable, we have to face them. It's what being human is all about.

Without making any great show of it, Mather withdrew from him. Though they saw each other in company, and he was never obviously distant toward Edward, the friendship was never the same. Edward was in agonies when he considered that Mather was actually repelled by his behavior, but he did not have the courage to raise the subject. Besides, Mather made sure they were never alone together. At first Edward believed that his error was to have damaged Mather's pride by witnessing his humiliation, which Edward then compounded by acting as his champion, demonstrating that he was tough while Mather was a vulnerable weakling. Later on, Edward realized that what he had done was simply not cool, and his shame was all the greater. Street fighting did not go with poetry and irony, bebop or history. He was guilty of a lapse of taste. He was not the person he had thought. What he believed was an interesting quirk, a rough virtue, turned out to be a vulgarity. He was a country boy, a provincial idiot who thought a bare-knuckle swipe could impress a friend. It was a mortifying reappraisal. He was making one of the advances typical of early adulthood: the discovery that there were new values by which he preferred to be judged.

Just so we’re clear, toward the beginning of Back to the Future when Marty’s band is trying out for the school talent show and doesn’t get in, it isn’t that the uptight, uncool Establishment doesn’t get his music, Marty McFly just plays guitar like an asshole.

Oh well. Whatever happens, happens

the difficulties that ravaged the lives of many young African American men of Powell’s ilk: drug and alcohol abuse (or, in his case, self-medication), psychiatric (mis)treatment, and the criminal (in)justice system.

BEBOP / MODERN JAZZ: RECOMMENDED LISTENING Dizzy Gillespie, “Hot House,” May 11, 1945 Dizzy Gillespie, “Salt Peanuts,” May 11, 1945 Thelonious Monk, “Epistrophy,” July 2, 1948 Thelonious Monk, “’Round Midnight,” November 21, 1947 Charlie Parker, “Donna Lee,” May 8, 1947 Charlie Parker, “Ko-Ko,” November 26, 1945 Charlie Parker, “Night in Tunisia,” March 28, 1946 Bud Powell, “Cherokee,” February 23, 1949 Bud Powell, “Un Poco Loco,” May 1, 1951

The two of them had fallen into the habit of bartering knowledge whenever she visited. He schooled her in jazz, in bebop and exotic bossa nova, playing his favorites for her while he painted- Slim Gaillard, Rita Reys, King Pleasure, and Jimmy Giuffre- stabbing the air with his brush when there was a particular passage he wanted her to note. In turn, she showed him the latest additions to her birding diary- her sketches of the short-eared owl and American wigeon, the cedar waxwing and late warblers. She explained how the innocent-looking loggerhead shrike killed its prey by biting it in the back of the neck, severing the spinal cord before impaling the victim on thorns or barbed wire and tearing it apart. "Good grief," he'd said, shuddering. "I'm in the clutches of an avian Vincent Price.

On Contemporary Jazz—‘Bebop’” (from a handwritten journal dated February 24–May 5, 1947) focuses more intently on the effects of speed and virtuosity on stylistic changes in the jazz idiom, as embodied in the playing of figures such as Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Thelonious Monk—all of whom Kerouac had seen perform in New York’s Fifty-second Street jazz clubs by the mid-1940s. Flexing his talents as a music writer, Kerouac presents an informed, condensed jazz history of the 1930s and 1940s. He not only recognizes the significance of bebop’s modern, avant-garde revision of jazz’s compositional vocabulary, but views those compositional developments in rhythm and harmony as the virtuosic equivalent of the European classical tradition. If “A Couple of Facts Concerning Laws of Decadence” displays Kerouac’s tendency at times to sentimentalize the premodern, this early essay on bebop valorizes propulsive, forward-looking art, the avant-garde abandon that came to characterize American expressive culture in the decades following World War II.

They were the younger guys playing at the end of the Swing Era, just playing their version of it. It became known as bebop, which sounds esoteric, but it was really just an offshoot of swing music.” That offshoot, however, almost instantly changed jazz music’s identity, advancing it from a danceable idiom played with the audience’s casual listening pleasure in mind to a more personal and cerebral modern music.

And most of the time, when you're young and dumb - you know everything! Charles Freeman Lee bebop pianist and trumpeter

Partial skinning may be less painful, perhaps delay unpleasantness, how pain set in breasts, back, and belly offers less agony, some reprieve, while the skinning of fingers, nose, cheeks and lips feels like spears. . .

_Vacuum tubes_ are known as _valves_ in England. This is based on the fact that they can be used to control the flow of electricity, similar in concept to the way in which their mechanical namesakes are used to control the flow of fluids.

I felt like I was watching a dream I'd never wake up from. Before I knew it, the dream was over. -Spike Spiegel, Cowboy Bebop

Beyond 5-note and 7-note scales, there are a few specialized 8-note jazz scales (called bebop scales).

Hawkins sought out the freshest, most original musicians, and had little patience for those who would quibble over the difference between “modern” or “progressive,” “swing” or “bebop.” “I don’t think about music as being new, or modern, or anything of the type,” he mused. “Music doesn’t go seasonable to me.”44

But I am willing to bet that makes ol’ Bebop and Rocksteady here our dastardly villains. And doing that basic math in my head, I’m saying it all adds up to the Russians.

On January 28th, 1982, I wrote in my diary, "Rock and roll is a king-sized version of jazzy, puck, swing, and be-bop. I don't want that. However, rhythmic beat's fine.

Hoping to discourage him, Kat gave the guy flat eyes and a disdainful frown. Sunglasses was not deterred. He bebopped over, moving to some sound track that was playing only in his own head. “Hey,

Life will challenge you to do things.... .... sometimes, you just have to let go!

SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY ...

In a phone interview in 1994, Celia Powell stressed two sentiments: music was her father’s life; it was the driving force of his existence, in her opinion. And she thought the music industry had very much taken advantage of him.121

bebop at its core: It wasn’t just art for art’s sake but art that could show contempt for its audience.

Critics use musical metaphors to describe his painterly technique, referring to it as “pure eye music” and noting his “lyrical touch.

Gillespie would recall the California experience with his typical resolve, a quality that probably fostered the remarkable longevity of his career: “Sea to sea, America in 1945 was as backward a country musically as it was racially. Those of us who tried to push it forward had to suffer.”80

The new music, the bebop and modern jazz, wasn't music to him. It was choppy noise pretending to make music out of traffic jams.

As you may have noticed, things are racing along in technology space (where no one can hear you scream).

(I know, multiple exclamation marks are the sign of a deranged mind, but I’ve reached the age where I no longer care.)

Quarks are so weird that they have been referred to as “The dreams that stuff is made from,” and they are way beyond the scope of this book.

The author has discovered to his cost that if you call a zoo to ask the cubic volume of the average adult camel, they treat you as if you are a complete idiot.

If it's meant to happen, it will happen.

I developed a philosophy there that I wanted to play my bebop as loose as possible and I wanted to play my free music as tight as possible.

See you space cowboy...

Naturally, I’ve heard of the Gelatinists and all the crazy conspiracy theories that surround the cult and their smooth-talking messiah, Dr. Ignatius Tastywiggle, but to my knowledge, this is the first time I’ve ever encountered one in real life.

Things rarely get farther past the scripting phase, where they always inevitably try and make a character, who is at his core the purest form of concentrated hate and evil in the universe, into some kind of darkly comedic antihero, and thus fail miserably every time.

If I sense so much as a single hanky or a panky, I’m out.

This is more of a tax for being a dumbass than anything else.

The sway of her hips is hypnotic. Hmm, I wonder if that’s where that comes from, hip-notic.

Full disclosure. I’m a guy weaned on the reruns of 1970’s and 80’s action/adventure TV shows. You couple that with a pretty white trash upbringing that, when not down at the comic book shop and learning about the art of Jack Cole and obscure Italian crime movies from Von Rudy, translated into an inordinate amount of time spent hanging around Lemons Speedway unsupervised while my mother looked for love, and you’ll see that my convincing a broken down daredevil stuntman drinking buddy of my mom’s named No Eyes Majewsky into teaching me how to pull out of a parking space like Jim Rockford and then raise hell on four wheels seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Do you really think Dizzy Pendergrass could do all this? I mean look around. This is a big operation I’ve got going on here. From what I’ve seen that guy isn’t exactly busting at the seams with ambition or the ability to sign a commercial rental agreement.

For shoes, I pick my two-tone black and red leopard Creepers which have no cool backstory.

You know what? Smurf you, mothersmurfer! Smurf you in your smurfing smurf! You know what you are? You’re a smurfing bigot and I don’t need this smurf!

The Pussy Hound gives me that obnoxious heart-shaped hands thing that I can’t believe people are still doing.

Well here, look at this and see if it brings to mind any fancy curse words people don’t use anymore. Try working in balderdash if you can. That one’s always been a personal favorite of mine.

Like hell! He only gave me fifteen hundred one dollar coins in a greasy Crown Royal bag with the assurance that they’d soon triple in value. Spoilers: They didn't.

I know that what Rocket’s wearing while obviously being kidnapped isn’t important, but I can’t help but notice.

We’re gonna make Dr. Ignatius Tastywiggle an offer he can’t understand.

Professor Pietro Proteus? No shit? We interned together back when we were both starting out. Good man. He still a monkey? No matter. Don’t answer that. Ain’t my place to judge.

It wasn’t Grand Canyon, Tastywiggle was saying. That fucker invented a gran cannon and the bubble on R2-DMitra’s back is a hopper filled with old people that is shoots as ammunition!

Plus, it gives me time to admire the old maxi pad machine hanging on the wall in here that for some reason has been converted to now dispense individually wrapped pierogis, or Commie Hot Pockets as my fairly xenophobic grandmother used to call them, for the princely sum of seventy-five cents a piece.

I’ve got intestinal nightmares that would make your marshmallow mask spin like a dreidel on the third day of Chanukah, but that’s a topic for a different night.

I do it, because for every Doctor Haircut or Bubba Law: NASCOP pristine prime-time drama that helps back-up the argument that we are in the midst of a second Golden Age of Television, there are shows about boxes of cereal turned vigilante after being framed for their wife’s murders and garbage men with Emmanuel Lewis for a leg fighting off clockwork Tom Waits zombies that need a-watchin’. Anyone can enjoy the good stuff. It takes a special kind of guy to appreciate the awful. And I like to think of myself as that guy.

Oh! I’m sorry. Charo was right. Never go against the coochie-coochie.

Y’know what? Fuck it. Good for you. Go out there and get all that dick. Shit, put it in sideways if you have to and then pack some more dicks in there with it to take up whatever extra room may be left and then stuff in one more for good measure. Infinity dicks is what I wish you.

The trumpet, an incredible brass invention, is the king of instruments. This wild machine, its curved pipes, valves, and flowering bell. A puzzle of cold metal and grease, but when placed against the lips of a human being, and love is blown into it, it becomes warm and alive, a conduit for god, a spokesman for the divine. The more love in, the more warmth out, its finger-propelled pistons changing the shape and speed of the rainbows of curved air blown through its passageways. The expansion and contraction of lip muscles a feat of strength. From the first second I put that cold mouthpiece against my chops and started blowing warm, I yearned to create a beautiful sound, to feel my whole being vibrating one with a tone. I wanted that same oneness I felt when I hit a sweet jumper, or when I euphorically rolled on the floor as Walter and his friends jammed the hard bebop back in New York. When I played it right, I was living in the infinite present.

It was really a very small window in which all of this bebop creativity happened. It took place in a few years on a few blocks. A lot of hectic activity, by some intensely creative, even desperate, souls, all working in that small window of time and space.

cast into feminine terms, set the standard for ambitious actors. Charlie Parker, the genius of bebop, was a heroin addict; his exploits with women were as legendary as his mastery of the sax, an instrument whose major players were all male. Jackson Pollock’s explosive drip paintings and tough-guy rebel stance attracted wide media attention, a first in American painting. Drunk, he might piss in a host’s fireplace or upend the dinner table. Such artists were invaluable for cold war propaganda purposes. Whatever the impression left by the witch-hunts of Senator Joseph McCarthy, American rebels were living proof that, in contrast to the heavily regimented Soviet Union,

She tortured her family by playing her 78s over and over at top volume, until everyone knew every line on every Thelonious Monk record. By the time Yvonne was fifteen she had become so immersed in bebop and progressive jazz that she researched and wrote a ten-page “history of jazz.” It was for her own edification, not to fulfill a school assignment.

contributed to early conceptions of hip hop with their single “The Message” and electro with “Scorpio,” accelerating funk, boogie, and call-and-response rapping with electronic drum programming and turntable sampling techniques. A month prior, Sun Ra and his Arkestra recorded the extended piano and double-bass-led jazz song “Nuclear War” at Variety Recording Studios in New York, featuring rap-adjacent oration from Sun Ra himself that recalls the woeful downtempo bebop of Charles Mingus’ “Oh Lord Don't Let Them Drop That Atomic Bomb on Me” (1962).