Guitar Catalog
Guitar Review; No. 95; Fall, 1993
Guitar Review; No. 95; Fall, 1993
Guitar Review: August, 1968, No. 30
Bobri, Vladimir, editor, Guitar Review: August, 1968, No. 30
Guitar Review: no. 53; Spring, 1983
Bobri, Vladimir, editor, Guitar Review: no. 53; Spring, 1983
Selected Songs.
Bowles, Paul, Selected Songs.
Other Guitar books that may be of interest:
- Bowie, David. Space oddity RCA Records, Inc. New York 1972
The composer, popular vocals, guitar and organ, with instrumental ensemble.; Lyric texts on inner sleeve.; Recorded in London.; Space oddity.--Unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed.--Letter to Hermione.--Cygnet committee.--Janine.--An occasional dream.--The wild eyed boy from Freecloud.--God knows I'm good.--Memory of a free festival. 12 in. 1 sound disc 33 p1 s/ b3 s rpm, stereo. 12 in. Rock music.
- Hockney, David.; Stevens, Wallace The blue guitar Petersburg Press London 0902825038 1977
David Hockney ; The man with the blue guitar / Wallace Stevens. 22 cm. 51 p. ill., etchings (col.) 22 cm. Dewey:769/.92/4 Hockney, David.
- Sandburg, Carl Carl Sandburg sings Americana. [Sound recording] Everest FS 309. [1975?] [n.p.]
Archive of folk & jazz music.; Songs; the singer accompanying himself on guitar.; Program notes on container.; Mama have you heard the news.--The good boy.--Woven spirituals.--I'm sad, I'm lonely.--The horse named Bill.--Foggy, foggy dew.--I ride an old paint.--Gallows song. p. 1 disc. 33 1/3 rpm. mono. 12 in. Ballads, American. [from old catalog]
- Sandburg, Carl Cowboy songs and Negro spirituals. [Sound recording] Decca DL 9105. [1964] [n.p.]
Title from slipcase.; Sung by Carl Sandburg accompanying himself on the guitar.; Program notes on slipcase. p. 2 s. 12 in. 33 1/3 rpm. microgroove. Cowboys; Negro spirituals. [from old catalog]
Quotes
Pieces of Soap “Performance and Reality”
Stanley ElkinAnd now it happens. Just now. The flamenco dancer is doing a particularly difficult riff. This murderous tango of a man whose body is one taut line of mood, who, touched at one end of that body should, by the laws of physics if not the conventions of his trade, like the strings on the musician’s guitar, vibrate at the other, but whose art it is to defy physics, to drive his feet like pistons withoutruffling a ruffle of his shirt, who does that, whose ruling second skin of costume, revealing still that inch and a half of scar, the material caught in it, in the scar , the magic show-biz gypsy latex, stuck there like the long, dark vertical of a behind snagged in the pants of a fat man rising from a chair on a hot day, does not, does not, display a single qualm of muscle, not one quiver, tremor, shiver, flutter, not one shake, not even his trousers which, snug as they are from mid-thigh to the small of the back, are cut like normal men’s beneath that and actually hang like a gaucho’s in a sort of flare below the knees, not even his damn trousers jump!