On the day after the Supreme Court concluded its epic term in June, two of the supreme judicial antagonists, Justice Antonin Scalia and Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, met over a mutual love: opera.
When it comes to constitutional interpretation, the conservative Scalia and the liberal Ginsburg are leaders of the court's two opposing wings. To make matters yet more interesting, the two have been friends for decades, since long before Scalia was named to the court by President Reagan and Ginsburg by President Clinton.
Join Fiona Ritchie at The Swannanoa Gathering in the mountains of North Carolina for a conversational, musical encounter with vocalist and leading banjo and mandolin player Claudine Langille, known for her work in the 1980s with Touchstone and her current band Gypsy Reel. Hear why songs and tunes from the Canadian Maritimes, Ireland and Appalachia flow through Langille's music.
Soul man Charles Bradley knew he could sing — former band members and friends always told him that. But he just never got the shot, shuttling from one odd job to another. Into his 50s, Bradley was living with his mother in New York and performing as a James Brown interpreter under the name "Black Velvet." When Daptone Records co-founder Gabriel Roth saw him perform, this soul man finally got his shot at fame.
We open our hymnals to Hymn 379, and we begin to sing. "God is Love, let heav'n adore him / God is Love, let earth rejoice ..."
Lifting voices together in praise can be a transcendent experience, unifying a congregation in a way that is somehow both fervent and soothing. But is there actually a physical basis for those feelings?
"This is just an awesome, inspiring place to make music." Those are the words of Jake Wachtel, who directed this music video for John Vanderslice. And the place he's talking about, well, it's John's heart and soul really: It's a recording studio called Tiny Telephone located in San Francisco's Mission District.
It wasn't Charles Bradley's first visit to Studio 1A at KUTX — indeed, the whole affair had the feel of a victorious homecoming. Dressed in black from his shades to his boots, and sporting denim emblazoned with a rhinestone skull, the man called "The Screaming Eagle of Soul" carried himself like a superstar for an intimate audience who'd raced to the station April 30 to see him in action.