While tootling around Kyle's place this morning, we took note of his comment that some in the media apparently had difficulty pronouncing Barack Obama's first name (we won't even go into the shenanigans they've perpetrated with his last name), and were reminded of how infuriated we become when we hear one of our very favourite musicians distorted thus:
Noose Rat Fatty Early Cohen
on stations which really ought to emply people who know better. Peoples, this is not some unknown dude bellowing his heart out in a cornfield (wheatfield?) somewhere. He is a master of Qawwali music (well, was. We were utterly heartbroken when he died) who has performed at the Royal Albert, fer cryin' out, we ourselves saw him at the Masonic Auditorium and at the Greek Theater (and there was barely room to fart, not to mention the shamelessness of various men, boys, girls, and women dancing in the aisles and swarming the stage. It's a good thing the South Asian community tends to dress formally in cumbersome clothing for affairs such as this, or underwear would've been flying in all directions (no doubt pissing off the Mighty Khan something terrible - he wasn't even happy about the customary showering with money).
At any rate, here he is an early clip (not very good, but hey).
His incomparable stylings, his talent in blending jazz and classical Hindustani music with the traditional qawwali form, and (largely, though not always) managing to avoid the vulgarity of typical filmi music &mdash where to find another like him? Rightly labeled "Ustadji." Although I just want to say that the young guy's voice makes me want to strangle him. Here, for your listening pleasure, Yeh Jo Halka Halka.
We're off to find his entire treasure of a collection on the iPod (best fucking investment we ever made, being able to listen to The Mighty Khan all damn day while still running around).
Aside: Microsoft Word kept trying to tell us the word we wanted was "muskrat." It's one of those things that leaves you awfully tempted to take the next bus to Redmond just for the pleasure of strangling those blithering idiots.