||[Apr. 10th, 2008|02:25 pm]
Maybe it's just what I get for not being a big Francis Ford Coppola fan. The singer whose name I was unable to recall yesterday was, in fact, Mama Corleone herself, Morgana King (real name Maria Grazia Morgana Messina DeBerardinis, according to her three-line biography at Wankopedia.) I saw the Godfather movies but once, and had entirely forgotten that she was in them. Though not someone whose music you're apt to hear every day, she has in fact recorded more than thirty albums, though her peak of commercial success came as long ago as 1964, when she was 34 years old. In fact I doubt if I've ever heard her played on the radio more than two dozen times myself, and I recall that I caught only one of her infrequent guest appearances on television. |
Ages ago I'd intended to buy one of her albums (back in the days of vinyl— almost none have ever made it to CD) but never got around to it. Had I owned an album I probably would not have forgotten her name. I forgot it for several hours, and then it just popped into my head as I was going to sleep. Not wanting it to get away from me again I got up and wrote it down. Then today I went searching to see what I might find of her on Teh Internets.
Her limited popularity led me to expect that nothing she had done would appear on YouTube, but I was wrong. There's actually a user there called morganafan who has posted several videos of her work, including Mountain High, Valley Low, a song from the equally obscure 1946 Broadway musical Lute Song. It's a fairly tame performance for King, but does display a bit of her style and range. None of the videos posted are exemplary of her full-on eccentricity, but if you like the sample they're worth dipping into.
April has gone back to being balmy, for awhile at least. The apple orchard is quite leafy now, and my view of it much improved from previous years when the tall and dense stand of laurel still blocked my window. The back yard, though smelling mostly of fresh grass, is now occasionally enlivened by a faint scent of violets, thanks to the abundant blossoms on the surviving bush. The camellias, however, have not had a good year. There were no more than a dozen of them. I suspect that last year's pruning was badly done, or done at the wrong time of year.
The lilies, on the other hand, look to be on the verge of producing a bumper crop. The first of them has emerged, and nearly a hundred more are ready to open. Best of all, today there was no aggravation of my allergies, and, given a couple of free hours, I passed the breezy afternoon listening the bucolic sound of woodpeckers and songbirds and buzzing bees rather than my own explosive sneezes. A few more such fresh days would be welcome. It won't be long before the pines begin to pollinate, and then I'll probably be miserable for a week.