[SPEAKER_06]: 看看他们昨晚在学生之夜做了什么。 看起来很棒。 我的父亲阿维·法根（Avi Fagan）。 为此退休的布罗姆，所以我们非常感谢。 对于我们的志愿者和个人，里斯和伊莱在那里。 他们已经在卖一些书。
[SPEAKER_00]: 当然，我的伴侣谢拉（Shayla），我无法全力以赴。
[SPEAKER_06]: 加勒尔（Galel）坐在台阶上帮助这里的声音。 当然还有特里·卡特（Terry Carter），这确实就是为什么所有这一切都在西梅德福社区中心发生的原因。 这是社区中的固定要素，是一位了不起的诗人。 一切都很好。 哦，我忘记了谁？ 吉姆和哦，布鲁斯还为整个周末提供了一些相机作品的帮助。 因此，即使在所有这些人中，它仍然需要许多不同的财务贡献才能实现这一切。 如果您看我们的横幅，我们应该在那里大部分赞助商。 梅德福社区媒体当然，西梅德福社区中心，梅德福艺术委员会和大众文化委员会，以及艺术活着的梅德福基金会。 这也是我们在食品供应商的第一年。
[SPEAKER_00]: 丹麦糕点屋里面。
[SPEAKER_06]: 他们已经建立了令人难以置信的完全印象深刻的传播。 在旋律之间，两组之间，去看它们。 还有一些可能需要利用它们的人的浴室。 是的，还有Triangle Manor，这是一家本地T衬衫公司，为所有人制作了一些惊人的衬衫，并进行了Exp Realty。 还有几个个人赞助商，包括在我们的Patreon页面上注册的人。 这是一个每月的签名，在整年进行果酱会议和其他演出之类的事情上确实有所不同。 到处都有QR码，为那些在我们的Venmo中都愿意捐赠的人，他们只参加爵士梅德福音乐节，以及这个特殊的Patreon页面，这是一个很好的支持。 很好，所以我认为全是。 我总是觉得我忘记了一个人，但是请稍后再回来，特里·卡特（Terry Carter）会告诉您一些关于这一组和空间的信息。
[Terry Carter]: 很好，谢谢，谢谢。 乔纳森·法根（Jonathan Fagan）是梅德福爵士音乐节（Medford Jazz Festival）的协调员，也是创始人，是一位了不起的作曲家和钢琴家，也是音乐音乐的一切，所以您很快就会听到他的声音。 这是西梅德福社区中心。 我们从事业务已有90年了。 我们是核心的核心 历史悠久的非洲美洲梅德福社区，您知道，我们在神秘河上很好。 在里约热内卢和三街上，我们有悠久的历史，以及您以后会听到的所有事情。 但是我们希望直接进入业务，我们希望确保我们不会减少我们的时间 我们第二天的第一幕。 对于昨晚与我们在一起的任何人，我们与昨晚一起玩的两个小组度过了一段难以置信的时光，以及Morningsid音乐学院的Morningside的明星，这真是太棒了。 然后，与Anita Wood和她的团队AJ和团队一起，我的意思是，我们很开心。 他们让我在夜晚结束之前跳舞，所以一切都很好。 所以，谢谢。 黛比（Debbie）昨晚与Jazz Morningsis全明星赛一起演唱，很棒。 好吧，那么，我们的第一个星期六是Recita de Samba，从与Jacob de Bandolim同名的合唱团中获取。 这意味着在葡萄牙语中，我从来源中发现了它， 桑巴菜的食谱，该桑巴菜是由一个小组称为的应用程序，其方法是以最纯粹的形式显示出许多巴西音乐的风味，而没有人工添加剂，我喜欢，例如电池机或电动采样。 厨师，他们的厨房，丈夫和妻子，安娜·博尔赫斯和比尔·沃德（Ana Borges）和比尔·沃德（Bill Ward），并基于波士顿充满活力的巴西音乐界
[Unidentified]: 只是最好的。
[Terry Carter]: 最好的Bossa Nova和Samba，以及福特，Ihecha和Coco等地区专业。
[Clayton]: 我希望我做得很好。
[Terry Carter]: 我知道我的巴西人不是。 好的，安娜·博尔赫斯（Anna Borges）最初来自雷·佩（Recife），佩南布科（Pernambuco），她的职业生涯始于巴西利亚（Brasilia）在当地俱乐部和剧院唱歌。
[Unidentified]: 最后，他学会了弹吉他，并在巴西利亚的一所音乐学校中注册，在那里他研究了自己的声音 简·杜波斯（Jane Dubos）在一个研究经典和流行技术的珊瑚群体中。
[Terry Carter]: 经过多年与巴西吉他手Alosa Alcantara的密切合作，我正在转学到波士顿，音乐合作开始于 比尔·沃德（Bill Ward），比尔·沃德（Bill Ward），比尔·沃德（Bill Ward）。 他是钢琴家，吉他手和歌手，他深入探索了许多音乐世界。 我喜欢那个。 这是诗意的。 他最初是一名爵士钢琴家，赢得了一名高中生的沮丧研究，然后在Oberlin音乐学院学习Dan Wall和Sam de Margolis。 他13岁时获得了乔治·贝托（Giorgio Berto）的第一张记录，但不是大学 在巴西音乐的漩涡中，这确实是富有诗意的。 最近，他陷入了经典的钢琴宇宙，寻找波士顿大学的钢琴诠释硕士学位，并在那里与戈雅·夏隆（Goya Charon）和吉尔达·戈德斯坦（Gilda Goldstein）一起学习。 女士们，先生们，没有进一步的ADO，背诵桑巴。
[Clayton]: 我到达姨妈，我到达捷克姨妈 城市，请原谅我。 我不知道你知道如此美好的生活。 城市，请原谅我。 我以为我要去，我以为我要死了。 城市，请原谅我。 外国人 原谅我，但我不知道你知道没有我的生活是如此美好 我们爱你！ 祝你好运！
[SPEAKER_02]: 非常感谢。 第一首歌是卡洛斯·维拉（Carlos Vira）的，你知道的是波巴·诺瓦（Bossa Nova）的上帝之一。 因此，如果为时已晚，请原谅我。 这是标题。 我会尝试翻译。
[SPEAKER_05]: 我不太擅长这一点，但我认为您会得到一些我正在唱歌的内容。
[SPEAKER_02]: 因此，下一个作品就像爵士乐的影响。 然后是爵士乐的影响。 因此，这就像一首我也喜欢爵士乐和独自一人的影响。 因此，就像您在谈论拥有它时一样，但是爵士乐拥有它。 而且您知道，您会看到如何走。
[SPEAKER_05]: Extranjero Extranjero Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go,去，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，走，走，走，走，，，走，走，走，走，，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走
[Clayton]: Extranjero Extranjero Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go,去，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，去，走，走，走，走，，，走，走，走，走，，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走，走
[SPEAKER_05]: 谢谢。 我认为下一个作品是，这是一波。
[Clayton]: 但是我认为这只是您可以采取的动作。
[SPEAKER_05]: 当您恋爱时，就不可能一个人快乐。
[Clayton]: 我不能习惯它，因为我不知道该怎么说。 这些是来去去的小事。 祝福，冥想，不可能一个人快乐。 这是一个城市。 这是一个城市。 这是一个城市。 这是一个城市。 您看不到只能看到的东西。 我要回海滩。 不可能一个人在这里。 我不知道如何使用的是我不需要的和平的事情。 绿色和蓝色，绿色和蓝色。 不可能一个人在这里。
[Unidentified]: 我不知道歌词。 音乐 。
[SPEAKER_05]: 和 谢谢。
[SPEAKER_02]: 我想更改为下一个。
[SPEAKER_05]: 有时我们会争论我想唱这首歌。 我想，我不想播放这首歌。 我当时想，什么？ 但这没关系。 总是。 我去耶稣土地的桑巴山，喝光，看见山姆巴斯。 魔术吸引了我。 我的心出来了。 我在巴伊亚，街头派对。 在月亮的食堂是桑巴。 喝灯，检查班巴斯，一个魔术师引诱我。 我的心脏溢出。 我在海湾，我。 月亮派对，我会的。 在月球食堂，你必须下去。 这张桌子是白色的，可以平静。 我会充满信心地鼓掌。 我很健康，我从那里。 哦，哦，哦。 和 好的。 我来自Slippeg，我来自Izu de Noah，我有一点番石榴和香蕉皮。 我是健康的，我来自那里。 我来自毛瓦广场的Gamboa，我是桑巴山。 我是，我是健康，我从那里。 从他愚蠢和曼巴·班巴（Mamba Bamba）开始。 Eu sou，eu sou dali♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ 谢谢。 JoãoBosco的歌总是疯了。 因此，这是耶稣的尘世。
[SPEAKER_02]: 这是巴伊亚（Bahia）有很多非洲贡献的地方。 这就是他描述自己在哪里的方式，并且是一首非常有力和美丽的歌曲。 很难在星期六早上唱歌。 歌手喜欢在晚上唱歌。 啊，我很累。 因此，让我们互相回去，这是Sampa。 桑帕就像圣保罗的缩写。 因此，这是来自Caetano Veloso，他也第一次将其描述为Sampa。 因为这是一个，圣保罗就像纽约。 因此，他说，关于圣保罗的美好和诗意的事情。 这更安静。
[SPEAKER_05]: 我心中发生了一些事情，只有当我越过Epiranga和St. John大街时，我到这里时，我什么都没强调。 Natura，他们的歌曲的具体诗歌，两个女孩的谨慎欲望。 您不必报复更完整的翻译。 我心中发生了什么。 ♪只有当我越过伊普拉兰加大道和圣约翰大街时， ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪♪♪♪♪。 ♪ 它还不是老了，当我们不是突变体的时候，没有什么以前的，而且很难开始增加我不知道的东西，它来自另一个梦想，一个快乐的城市学会了将其称为现实，因为您在里面。 人们在线路上被压迫。 为了收集和破坏美丽事物的金钱力量。 听起来很丑陋的烟。 我看到您的诗人来自田野和空间，他们的森林研讨会，他们的雨神。 泛美，非洲，拉斯乌托邦，桑巴肿瘤，可能 新的Boyar可以玩得开心。 ♪我看到他们的田野和空间的田地出现了♪♪他们的森林工作坊，他们的雨神， 乌托邦非洲的帕纳梅卡，大多数可能的桑巴坟墓，新的僵尸Quilombo♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪ 谢谢。 我认为您可以知道这一点，如果您想跳舞。
[SPEAKER_02]: 我什么都不会说。
[SPEAKER_05]: 桑巴 和 但是这个桑巴岛与百香果混合在一起 和 最重要的是，我离开我想发生的额头，因为桑巴很兴奋，我想要的是桑巴 非常感谢。
[SPEAKER_02]: 一切都很好。 更多的歌曲跳舞。 这是我最喜欢的Buarque Boy。 太神奇了。 因此，翻译是如何跳舞的。 不要停止任何时刻。 他不是一个好丈夫，不。 所以让我跳舞。
[SPEAKER_05]: 我的特里尔（Triel）儿子（Triel Son），保险在您面前，但您会这样做，但它会做很多。 已经十个小时了，桑巴很热，使黑发满足，让女孩和平跳舞。 我不想发射五彩纸屑，但我不得不这么说。 你在进攻。 好痛。 而且，如果您继续用丈夫的脸跑步，那个女孩可能会感到无聊。 ♪回到悲伤的男人，总会有一个快乐的女人♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪漫画更多♪我是十个小时，桑巴人很热。 一个男人的悲伤是无家可归的女人，一个女人幸福的女人和一个千的女人，一千个没有这样的男人，没有这样的男人。 ♪，珍贵的男孩，但是你变糟了。 ♪但是它的状况非常糟糕，已经十个小时了，桑巴人很热。 ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪，但是我必须说♪♪♪♪♪ 这是三个小时，桑巴很热，使黑发快乐，让女孩桑巴人独自一人。 在悲伤的男人后面，她总是一个快乐的女人。 在这个女人的背后，一个男人总是来。 ♪那么，为了你的好事，哦，哦，把它从头上拿出来哦，哦，应该得到你有你的女孩。 ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ 谢谢。 我只想感谢大家的邀请，与格雷格一起在这里与Beough在一起。
[SPEAKER_02]: 这是我们的第一次。 很高兴来到这里。 Renato Malavati。 我的名字叫安娜·博尔赫斯（Ana Borges）。 如果您想参加我们和电子邮件列表寄存器桑巴岛上的Medford电子邮件列表，请随意。 我促进活动。 我也是音乐会的推动者。 也来自梅德福。 在家玩真是太好了。 很好，很好。 很好，所以让我们做... 您也可以知道这一点。
[SPEAKER_05]: vi viu que o amor nunca viu algo assim♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪突然跳了起来，看到她来的那个女孩，总是有这种邪恶的外观♪♪♪♪，您必须看到，您必须是，不必爱今天就没有爱♪♪♪♪♪没有，说是的，已经厌倦了等待♪我没有停下来，甚至没有想过要给我♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ [cantando emportuguês♪♪s 欧盟Pergunto，MasovênãoVem 您只看到爱，我从未见过这样的东西♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪突然跳了起来，看到那个来的女孩，她来了，总是有这个兄弟♪♪♪♪♪♪♪，你会看到的，那一定是，从来没有人说是的，我说是的，我说，我厌倦了等待等待等待的等待♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪- 奥布里加多。
[SPEAKER_02]: 让我们成为Bolero。 是的，他喜欢Bolero。 让我们这样做。 这是来自Dorival Caymmi。 这是关于爱情的另一首歌。 让我们成为Bolero。
[SPEAKER_05]: ♪不，请，就像某人一样 爱发生在生活中。 你不是毫不舒服。 而且我也偶然。 而且，就像我们生活中重要的房屋一样，生活也使您的玩具成为了您的玩具。 你不请别人。 我不是我或任何人。 爱发生在生活中。 你不合适。 亲爱的，从我们的生活到生活，这是多么重要。 ♪不要让任何喜欢炖的人都喜欢炖♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ 当爱发生在生活中时，你还没有做好准备，我是。亲爱的，我们一生的生命是多么重要， 没有人喜欢某人，我和我发明了爱，不是我，不是我 谢谢。 这是我们可以整天唱歌的音乐，同一首歌，对吗？ 太好了。 我喜欢那个。 再次？ 一切都很好。
[SPEAKER_02]: 同样，很高兴能在梅德福。 与您一起，大量的听众，特别。 非常感谢您邀请我们的每个人。 抱歉，我不记得每个人的名字。
[SPEAKER_05]: 还为时过早。 但是再次感谢您邀请我们。 让我们制作最后一首歌。 最后一首歌是最好的？
[SPEAKER_02]: 醉？ 是的，让我们这样做。 你知道吗？ 醉，平衡？ 一切都很好。 因此，这是JoãoBosco的另一首歌。 所以我们要去。 大量能量，高音调。
[SPEAKER_05]: 脸 每个寒冷的星星都有租用的光芒。 天空中的云通知了折磨的点。 我是 外国外国 在这条线的每个阶段，您可能会损坏知道每位艺术家的表演的平衡希望 谢谢。 非常感谢。 比尔·沃德（Bill Ward），格雷格·托罗（Greg Toro）和雷纳塔·马拉瓦扎（Renata Malavazza）。 我叫安娜·博尔赫斯（Anna Borges）。 下周我们将在哈佛广场比赛。 如果您问，我可以告诉您更多。 谢谢。 一切都很好。
[Terry Carter]: 好吧，这是西梅德福。 不要成为塔卡尼奥。 桑巴人改组，钢琴的比尔·沃德（Bill Ward）。 安娜在声音中bor。 格雷格·托罗（Greg Toro）在低音上。 再告诉我。 和renato在鼓上。 一切都很好。 非常非常好。 好吧，当我们为第二行为做准备时，让我们为事业休息一下。 我的强烈建议是进入并赞助丹麦糕点店，因为他们做得很好。 里面有很多快乐。 所有糖，所有黄油都在意大利面的侧面，在咸的一面非常好吃。 所以你知道，保留并获得。 他们有柠檬水和冷水。 所以，好的。 一切都很好。 几分钟后我见到你。
[SPEAKER_03]: 我从来不知道他们能做什么。 我不敢相信你爱上了我。 您正在告诉所有我认识的每个人，我在您要去的任何地方都在您的脑海中。 我不敢相信你是 毕竟，据说并做出了，认为我很幸运。 我不敢相信他们能做什么。 我简直不敢相信你爱上了我。 您正在告诉所有我认识的每个人，我在您要去的任何地方都在您的脑海中。 据说并认为我很幸运
[Terry Carter]: All right. All right. Hello everybody. All right. So we had a beautiful first set. They said that they samba was marvelous. Really really good. And hopefully we will at least meet if not exceed your expectations for the second part of our program today. For those of you who don't know me or who I haven't had a chance to meet yet, my name is Terry Carter, Terry E. My mother says use the initial, that's why I gave it to you. So it's Terry E. Carter, E stands for Eugene. And I direct elder services here at the community center. I'm not going to talk a lot, but I do want you to know just a little bit about We've been in business for 90 years representing the historic African American community of West Medford and this is the second building on the site. The first building was little more than an old army Quonset hut that was brought here from the defunct army base in East Boston going way back, World War II. And it was set on the site and it remained our home from like 1945 to the early 2000s. And then it basically collapsed under its own weight. And we were fortunate enough over the next several years thereafter to build this building. And this is the current home of an organization that really, really is very near and dear to my heart. I grew up in West Medford. I'm born and raised on Jerome and Monument Streets, not too far from here. And so the community center, Duggar Park, where all the basketball players are, well, you know, another story for another day. And, let's see, Duggar Park. the Hervey School, Shiloh Baptist Church, a couple other places. If our parents didn't know where we were, they knew where to find us, okay? Because we were at one of those three or four places. But in any case, Jonathan and I, Jonathan Fagan here, who convened and founded the Jazz Fest, yeah, absolutely. We got together, it's going on six years ago, we decided that we wanted to do something project-wise, him as a musician, me as a poet, that would bring those two worlds together under the banner of jazz, because he's a splendid jazz composer, arranger, and poetry, and I'm turning into more of a lyricist as time goes by. I just started out as a garden variety poet, but now I can add lyricist and poet laureate to my name. Okay, so we're gonna start off with where we think, as a community, we start off. So we're gonna do a tune called Hired by the Mystic, okay? All right, now, everything that we do is this intersection of jazz and social justice, okay? Some of it might not fit your ears real easily, but I ask you to open your hearts because I speak the truth in love. Is that cool? All right, all right, very good. All right, let's do this. They gave my people the lowlands, and not much of it. Just a few streets high by the river. Banks turned to fly and die behind the red lines, and it wasn't about the money. Class was an irresistible force. Race was an immovable object. Perhaps it wasn't the written rule, but white folks knew the legal tool to keep us in our place in this mystic valley space, where slaves and rum and chips had built some mansions, made some millionaires, and hid some old money. So it was hard by the mystic we went, muddy and a bit turned down, the only place where one could be brown in this ancient Middlesex County town. But we named it and claimed it and made it our own. Even in the heat of summer, when the shores were parched and the soil was rank, with the decay of aquatic alchemy, we were one with the river. We followed its flow to the lakes and the sandy beachfront. Like our own Jordan Shore, we baptized and blessed our brothers and sisters in Christ. We caught the little fishes to and became the TV multitude who our Lord Jesus fed, hired by the mystic. We became community. We commanded unity. We embraced the village and raised up our children in the way they should go. As the river ebbs and flows, the tides would turn and our fortune grows. A few more streets become our home. Houses on Sharon join Kin on Jerome. From Duggar Park to the railroad tracks, the landed folk make more room for blacks. The color line recedes a bit. Church and school and center sit. The ville becomes the heart of it, hired by the mystic shore. Now the worm has surely turned, and folks who left have surely learned things couldn't stay the same. That muddy mystic most days is clean. The banks are freshly cut and green. Faces once distinctly brown are not the only ones in town. These streets that once were our confines must now embrace what gentry defines, condominium culture, bedroom convenience, university sprawl, access, egress, excess, and largesse. Now those lowlands have become the highlights of a trending city. And sometimes that success isn't pretty when it's at the expense of your black and brown and tan family. And yet the river still turns and bends. from where it begins to where it ends. The only place where one could be ground in this ancient Middlesex County town where we named it and claimed it and made it our own. All right. All right, okay, now, okay, we're into it now, okay? We're into it. So this is a cool segue because... There were, in that ancient Middlesex County town where we named it and claimed it and made it our own, there were a few institutions, especially for us kids. There was, of course, Duggar Park. There was the Hervey Schoolyard where we grew up and played on that side of town. There was the West Medford Community Center where all of us kids came for Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts. playing pool and bumper pool and ping pong and so on and so forth. And one of the other institutions that was particularly near and dear to our heart was right around the corner, a few streets down on Jerome Street, and it was called The Little Store. It was a tiny red hovel on Upper Jerome. a bit run down and rough around the edges. And Mr. Henry seemed so old to us even then, with a lot of whiskers, impatient, and a little scary. One would suspect that he didn't even like kids, but he really must have loved us. Or else, where did all that penny candy come from? He had all of it, no, seriously. We'd bust in there with a few nickels or a handful of pennies, all loud and unruly. He'd hush us up while he finished with grown folks' business. Then he'd be back, like a black Willy Wonka up in that old shack. He'd peer over those old horn-rimmed glasses and tell us he didn't have all day. Then he'd blow open one of those small brown craft paper bags. and get to stuffin' while we were oohin' and ahin' and huffin' and puffin'. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. Root beer barrels and pixie sticks, squirrel nut zippers and banana splits, green mint juleps and button strips, red licorice ropes and bottle nips, He had bazooka Joe bubblegum and a tiny sucker called a dum-dum. Jawbreakers and Tootsie Rolls, sugary love for little kids souls. Candy necklaces to wear and bite, and waxy red lips was such a sight. Fat gum cigars and kid cigarettes, right beside the crunchy six legs. Mary Jane chewies and BB bats, hot fireballs and Mexican hats. Just the genuine Hershey's Kisses, all of the hits and none of the misses. Like kid taffy squares and Necco wafers, liquor made in Boston baked beans. Gold rocks, nuggets of gum in a bag, a kid's idea, sweet tooth swag. Before the days of Laffy Taffys, we would gobble up peppermint patties. Before we knew about gummy bears, Twizzlers always came in pairs. Chewy cow tails with creamy filling, but sugar babies had top filling. Reese's peanut butter cups had us squealing like newborn pups. mica nights and orange slices, salt water taffy and tiny prices. Lifesavers and charms and fruity flavors. We grab those bags like potty favors. Uncles were a favorite choice, and milk duds made us all rejoice. Jolly ranchers and bitter honey, we always got a lot for our money. Talk about kids getting excited. Our greedy fingers could barely wait. You can't imagine the flame he ignited to take that candy like fish take bait. from cold January to chilly December. More kinds of candy than I can remember at the Phil storefront on Upper Jerome. I knew I had to write this poem. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. All right. All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. We love it. Okay, so here's the band. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. All right. Greg Toro on the little sexy. This is not the big sexy. The big sexy is the really big bass. This is the little sexy. It's still very sexy, but it's a smaller bass. And my man, Gordon Engelgau on the traps here. Okay, we are the Ally Project. We're going to move this thing along. Boy, where am I? Yeah. OK, here we go. So I'm not going to lie or front as we say in the hood. The neighborhood has changed pretty dramatically, all right? So I'm gonna talk a little bit about how I remember it and what it's become, okay? So this piece is called Corner Lot. All right. standing at the apex of Arlington and Jerome, trying to remember the black and the brown and the tan. Ronnie and Otis used to live in the big house on the corner lot. It's probably changed a half a dozen times since then. Current owner's been there for a minute. He's good with his hands and he knows his way around wood and tools. Place has been gussied up quite a bit. Picket fence is not quite white, but if you know, you know. Asian kid in a Tufts hoodie just whipped by in a helmet and roller blades. Didn't see much of that back in the day. The university sort of hit on the hell side, trying its best to be a baby Ivy. But the co-eds come here all the time now. Basketball, tennis rackets, pickleball paddles in tow, on bikes, in Benzos and roller blades. We used to bust ourselves up pretty good on those rickety metal skates with clunky keys and leather straps. Nothing a little Vaseline and Mercurochrome couldn't handle. How did Henley put it in Invictus? Oh yeah, bloody but unbowed. Not too many white and off-white kids hanging out here back there then. It was as if the invisible lines once drawn to keep us in sometimes kept other folks out too. Now they've pretty much taken over. Dug a park, the Rhone tennis courts, the Hervey schoolyard, and a hundred addresses on Arlington, Lincoln, and Jerome. A host of our remembered places, so few of our original faces. Meanwhile, back in Ronnie and Otis' old place, I'm still standing like that centurion, knowing that Jesus doesn't have to go in to heal his servant. He just has to speak a word. I guess I keep hoping that he'll speak a word to the corner lot, too, and bring back the black and the brown and the tan. Across the river, it's low tide. The smell is gone and the grass is greener than I recall. That was our little park, away from dugger and a lot less hectic. We had makeshift bases or discarded cones for football and softball. We lost a few in the river, but nobody was going in that muck to retrieve anything. We'd probably wait in that water today. They planted some trees there many years ago. They're all pretty big now. Maple and ash, I think. Nobody plays baseball or football there anymore. But there are lots of dogs frolicking off leash and gaggles of fat Canadian geese daring pitties, pugs, and poodles to chase them all. I can't imagine my childhood without losing a few softballs there. I can't imagine not hearing Mrs. Allen call little James Michael to come and eat, or little Charlie to watch us play from his folding chair, because his spindly legs were too weak to let him run. I can't imagine that I'm still here. But Ronnie and Otis, Darryl King and Frankie French, Aaron McDaniel and Marky Davis are all gone. Mark was as thick as a big tree trunk, so we came up with Oak for him. Aaron was Spud, Frankie was Fruit Man, and I was Top Cat. Too cool, ran to school. Everyone wants the corner lot now. A little more land and perhaps the new perspectives that angles create. I wonder if that meant anything to Ronnie and Otis, or Jed and Miles and Gib, Barry, Coco, Keith Wing, and Kenny Byfield. Certainly meant something to the white folks looking to displace, transplant, and uproot the local color. Black folks built homes here, only place where they were allowed to be, where they could color inside the lines Medford once drew against the perceived discomforts of darker skin. We were here first. First firefighters, police officers, war heroes, shop owners, tradesmen, postal chiefs, teachers, artists, and preachers. We were the human bedrock of the only neighborhood they'd let us build. The old church is gone now. Nelson even changed the street number as if to erase the fact that the original Shiloh Baptist ever existed. But if you know, you know. That corner still has a cornerstone. 1900, and Nelson couldn't do nothing about it without a more draconian demolition. Two more condos in the house of the Lord. Two more houses that us first folk can't afford. Two more dismissals of the blessings of his word. One more holy stone rejected and ignored. Thank you. Thank you. All right, we're going to switch it up a little bit. You're familiar with the jazz canon. You know a couple of the players. You know Duke Ellington and Miles Davis and maybe Herbie Hancock and a few others. And then maybe you know John Coltrane. All right, so Coltrane, some of the best of the jazz standards were his compositions with that beautiful horn of his. And one of them was about one of his loves. Her name was Naima. And so if you know Coltrane and you know jazz a little bit, you probably have heard Naima before. So this is a riff, a take on Naima. It's called Reprise for Naima. He would blow this note in the midnight air, aloft in the ether it floats out there. Staccato cadence sets a mood of bluesy lyrical attitude. Improvisational mystery like Monk's piano epistrophe or Miles' tone poem in a silent way or Flanagan's peace at the end of the day. Syncopated in sharp, bright tone, a countdown to stardust, a twilight zone, like a blue train running against the night, setting the pace, then out of sight. With heartmen crooning or bags-on vibes, trios, duets, quartets, and tribes, the blues, the ballads, the avant-garde, incredibly gorgeous, impossibly hard. Giant steps move us miles ahead. Cooking up bop for Harlem street cred. Melody's hand to the harmony wed. Piano's lullaby fresh in the bed. Rhythm rocks where the drummer led. Rhythm rolls where the bass man sped. Rhythm birthed what the saxophone bred. Rhythm heard what the master said. How could he make the bitter taste sweeter? How could a tortured mind deleter? How could the mellowed scotch be neater? How could the smoke from each cigarette create blue beads that cast a net, create blue beads of cascading sweat, create blue haze that confounds regret, create blue nights that we can't Coltrane's notes are a crystal scale, a velvet scream in the urban travail, the heavenly riff of a love supreme, the pungent riff of a lover's dream. Coltrane's notes are a cozy romance, the breezy bounce of a bop and a dance, the languid lilt of stray's lush life, the cakes cut by the artist's knife. Coltrane's notes are a standard refined, like gold in a pan or gemstones mined, the sparkling glow of a hopeful dream, hot black coffee with a hint of cream. Coltrane's notes are Naima's reprise, like madness that brings a man to his knees, or sadness that comes when lovers part, the gladness removed from the balladeer's heart. A tight arrangement cuts the gloom. The melody says that love's in bloom. The harmony spirit engulfs the room. The bride says yes to her lyrical groom. The groove and the beat then jump the broom. The kip drum resounds with a sonic boom. As genius is birthed in a soul filled room. Musical mythology mocks, a twisted path the hero walks. With shield and sword the hero stalks. The temperance shakes her twisted locks. Medusa's snakes, his vision shocks. Holds up the mirror to stony blocks. The harp and the horn melt icy rocks. Serpents retreat and symphony talks. Coltrane's notes are a roller coaster, a hallelujah and a paternoster, the glorious jolt of the maestro's hand, the saxophone titan is in command. Coltrane's notes are a crazy rhythm, the squawk of chords and playful schism, the frenetic pace of Mr. P.C., the coolest round midnight will ever be. Coltrane's notes are genius refined, like gold in a pan or a gemstone's mine. The sparkling glow of a lover's dream, hot black coffee with a hint of cream. Coltrane's notes are Naima's reprise. Like madness that brings a man to his knees, or sadness that comes when lovers part, then gladness revived in the balladeer's heart. Thank you. Thank you very much. All right, all right. So we're going to stay on the jazz frontier for a minute. Herbie Hancock, and later Quincy Jones, they did a tune, Quincy covered it, Herbie Hancock did it for us, and it's called Tell Me a Bedtime Story. So we do a little riff on Tell Me a Bedtime Story, it's called Tell Me Another Bedtime Story, all right? It's just a sweet little jazz ditty, okay? Cool. Is this where the sandman picks up each grain, restoring the beauty and reducing the pain? Is this where we fly to never never land, like the troop of lost boys with Peter Pan? All of the mystery of hidden dreams. Nothing now is as it seems. Tell a sweet tale that sugars and creams with flashes of sardines and shining moonbeams. As I lay down to my slumber, paint a landscape of ochre and umber. Let there be a hint of romance. Turn up the quiet. Love wants to dance. Tell me a bedtime story, please, of secret gardens and pecan trees, of babbling brooks and waterfalls, of gentle breezes that summer calls, of hidden havens and wondrous spaces, of astral planes and mystical places. Let it be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony that folds into dreamland's reverie. Tell me a fable of Arabian nights spread on a table of earthly delights, free from the label of anger and fights, willing and able to scale higher heights. Tell me a bedtime story now, as the baby rocks in the maple bough, as the blue ox puts his nose to the plow, and the sweaty farmer wipes his brow, as each green seedling happily vows to yield each fruit the ground allows, and seven dwarfs whistle a happy tune, and sleeping beauty awakens soon. Let there be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony, then fold into dreamland's reverie. This is the time when the sandman whispers and seven grooms meet seven sisters. And the prairie sings an ode to love as the angels release the turtle dove. For now, I lay me down to sleep and pray to God, my soul to keep. All right. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. Greg Toro on the bass. Did you hear that? You heard that, right? All right, that's Gordon Yango, guy on the drums. All right. All right, so listen, we're going to the intersection of jazz and social justice, all right? All right, and when I say we ain't playing, we ain't playing, but we're playing. Is that okay? All right, all right. So we ain't playing, but we're playing. Okay, this is called alienation. Good? Okay. All right. Here is a fence without a gate. You can't get in, you have to wait. You can't be foreign or somehow strange. This isn't your home, home on the range. You can't arrive in a rickety boat. Our castle has a treacherous moat. We won't host refugees at our door. You're not the sort we're looking for. Take good note, we stay on guard. We don't want you in our backyard. Despite the danger you seek to avoid, our best deterrents have been deployed. You say our country's full of peril. But like stray cats, we think you're feral. We think you're prone to filth and crime. We don't want either at this time. We don't care what the nations say. They won't do more than hope and pray. Our stance is clear on human rights. Lock the door. Turn off the lights. You saw that statue in the bay. It stood for liberty until today. It welcomed tired and huddled masses, not criminals from your underclasses. We've got militias on the border. They own big guns to keep the order. Law enforcement lets them stay to help them keep your kind at bay. Why do we feel that this is good? Why can't we share the neighborhood? Is it because you're black and brown? No, we just choose to stand our ground. Stay in your place. Deal with your issues. We'll send lots of coal and tissues. Don't form caravans and run. You'll find yourselves in the sight of a gun. There are no streets here lined with gold. Our eyes are closed, our hearts are cold. There is no flowing milk and honey. American skies are not that sunny. The fences we build keep aliens out. They serve to keep our faith devout. This land we scheme to make our own is ours, you see, and ours alone. As long as you stay on the other side, we can maintain our national pride. Please don't show us your anguished faces. We're cutting back on other races. We've had enough of global inclusion. We're ridding this country of race confusion. We know how to win these fights and limit all these civil rights. safety nets and the welfare state will have to stop for the lost and late a rising tide that favors the rich that's our famous favorite campaign pitch me too movements and black lives matter in all due time your ranks will scatter you think that you shall overcome just cross this line we'll give you some We'll give you a taste of burning churches and black boys hung from oaks and birches. We'll give you a taste of incarceration in prisons.com, the corporate plantation. We're taking this country back to the time when a brown life wasn't worth a dime, except for the way it worked in the field, except for a bushel of crops to yield. We're taking this country back to the day when white meant right in every way, when men of privilege could rape and beat and kill for spite, then lie and cheat. We're taking this homeland back to the season when hooded marauders needed no reason to hunt folks down with rifles and dogs through the lonely woods, the swamps, and bogs. When confederate flags were boldly raised, and crosses in the darkness blazed, and the land was full of racial hate, served with grits on a breakfast plate. You thought this worm had surely turned, and young black bodies no longer burned. Yet here you are again today, with the specter of prejudice winning the day. The MAGA caps you wear with pride, they let us know who's on your side. The pointed hood and long white robe, fine clothes for the xenophobe. Perhaps this place that immigrants covet can somehow heal and rise above it. Until that day, our best advice to call this home, you'll pay a price. You'll pay a price as many misguided embrace the hate their voice provided. His Twitter rants and sound bites full of ethnocentric cock and bull. You'll pay a price as higher walls lead great climbers to greater falls, where fences are the new condition announcing the refugees' abolition. This isn't our nation's greatest hour, this flexing of white supremacist power. And yet the season is fully revealing the stain of hatred we've been concealing. So take good note and be on guard of deadly traps around the yard. Our agents are on high alert to keep you foreigners off this dirt. Tolerance is in short supply. We won't let your kind occupy this sacred land our forebears built. We don't subscribe to Anglo guilt. This fence was built without a gate to keep out all who come here late. To all you aliens, we don't like strange. No room at the inn in our home on the range. All right. Hard troops, admittedly, but troops nonetheless. All right, so we're gonna stay there for a minute, and then we'll try and ease up off of your feelings. This piece is called The Ally, and it's actually kind of the eponym for our project. So we're gonna do Ally for you. Friends become distant and strange as if you have some creeping mange. Family wonders why and rings their hands. How could you choose them over us? We're your blood, bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh. They're not like us. They're so different, less than, not equal to, beneath. Declarations have been made. Arrangements are in place. These are matters of our kin. Signs have been painted. You're going to be cast out. You're going to be shunned. You need to stick with your own kind. An ally? Is that what they're calling you? Well, it's a hard road to hoe. You're making strange bedfellows. You're casting your white pearls before swine. You weren't raised to behave like this. Our family is a proud and honored clan. We'll never be lower than any black man. There's no room for them at this table. There's always been two sides of the track, a right and wrong side of town, our kind and their kind, your people and those folks. It's going to kill your mother and your daddy's turning over in his grave. You want to shout out, Black Lives Matter. But the master plan is to make them scatter, to serve them pain on a silver platter. Our people own them. They worked this land for 200 years. They were our property, our Negroes. Hell, our Negroes to make it plain. You can't be out there with them. You can't be shoulder to shoulder with the ones we need to dominate, relegate, subjugate, eliminate. They want reparations. Well, we're making preparations to give them 40 acres of hell and a mule kit to the gut. You don't seem to get it, son. This is the way the races run. There's not enough room for everyone. The time for black and brown is done. Show your pride and pick up your gun. Pick the side that has always won. You can't be out there with them. You can't be shoulder to shoulder with the ones we need to dominate, relegate, subjugate, eliminate. All right. All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. All right, all right. Once again, the Allied Project. Jonathan Fagan, Greg Toro, Gordon Angle Guywin, I'm Terry Carter. Too cool, these bros got me sweating out here. Got me sweating. All right, okay, so we're at a couple of different spots and then we're gonna finish up. But let's do something nice and mellow. This is called Legacy, okay? Everybody enjoying themselves? All right. I know it's warm out there. I know. But you're braving the elements and enjoying the day, hopefully. Very, very good. It's not for you to tell your own story. That is the burden of your children. They must shoulder this yoke with love and loyalty. And yet, you have not gathered them up and bid them sit before the campfires of their elders. You have not seasoned their meals with the spice of their identity and the savor of their names. How will they learn to walk the walk and talk the talk? How will they learn to tell your stories even as they live out their own? Sons and daughters and heirs, if you didn't smell the burning ash or feel the warmth of the flame on your neck, you don't know. If you didn't revel in the growl of the griot's earthy reply or the trill of the mockingbird's cry, you don't know. If mama was too tired and daddy too long gone to carry the wood, light the spark and stoke the flames, you don't know. And until the lion cub knows how to tell the pride stories, the hunters will always tell them first. The good book says train up the child in the way they should go. Will we let them depart from the community of faith and the city on the hill without the master's touch, without the oil of his anointing and his full measure of grace? Will we not show them Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fafina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly the wonders of Wakanda, and Songololo's new tacky. The prophet says he will encourage fathers and their children to return. But how will they know the way home if no map charts the seas, measures the roads, cites the peaks and valleys, and names each forest despite the thickening trees? Will the burden of the elder stories be too heavy for the children? Will they care to carry? Will they dare to tarry? Will they linger at the foot of the griot? Will they hunger for the wisdom of the sage? We must put them on this page, where hard work earns a man his wage, where power is measured by God's own gauge, where miracles scarf at the wand of a maid. We must share with them the truth that is loyal and fierce like Naomi and Ruth, that doesn't wait for the confessional booth, that has the bite of the panther's tooth. This is the gift of legacy, where a glorious past sets the captives free, and a candle's light beckons liberty. Sons and daughters and heirs, I bid you sit before the campfires of your elders, hear their stories, gather up their stones, and build up your strength. They will show you Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fafina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly the wonders of Wakanda, and Sanga Lolo's new tackies. Soon you will be the herald. Write these things down on the tablets of your spirit. Let them put a running in your feet. With each quickening step, you repel the arrows of the hunter. With the shield of abiding faith, you capture the flags of your enemies and gather up their spoils. You remain the lions of the pride and your tails will always be your children's bread. You will never abandon the community of faith. Though you build a thousand cities on a hill, drawing wondrous strength from the master's touch as the oil of his anointing fills your clay jars with his grace. Thank you. All right. Quite a while ago, it was either my first or my second book. Speaking of first and second books, I've got books up there. There's actually a Ally Project CD, for those of you who still have a CD player. And it's got a lot of our music on it. So if you're interested, it's up there. We also have a book. Jazz Festival t-shirts, which are lovely, and our food venue, the Danish Pastry House, will still be here after we leave. So if you didn't get a snack and you wanna get one, come back and sit out under the tent and talk, or however the move hits you, it's all there, still there for you. All right, okay, so I think we're gonna do two more, and then we're gonna be done. All right, so. I love that, I love that, I love that, I love that. If it's not fake, if you're faking it, don't do it. But if it's, oh, okay, I love it, okay. What are we doing? Oh, we're doing Bobby, okay. All right, so a while back, on one of my early books, I think it was the second one, I have a painting in my house. It's called, what's it called, T? Oh, it's called Bobby Doesn't Live Here. And basically what it is is my attempt, my humble painting attempt, to kind of depict black women in all shapes and sizes, because they come in all shapes and sizes. And there may be one or two of them who are very, very narrow and somewhat Barbie-like, somewhat Angel Reese-like. But for the most part, it runs the gamut. So I wrote this poem called Barbie Doesn't Live Here to go with that. piece of artwork. And every once in a while, you revisit a piece of poetry and you say, well, what could I have done differently? Or what could I have said differently? So I had this notion, and it came out like this. And it's called, If Barbie Had a Choice.
[Unidentified]: 哈哈哈。
[Terry Carter]: 如果芭比娃娃有选择，我认为从第一天开始，她会做一些黑色的事情。 她会以明亮的乌木色调放弃奶油的皮肤。 她本来会以女王的真实态度在伊博语方言中讲话，并与你们地狱，定居者。 将粉红色的盒子粘在带有白色字母的粉红色盒子中，背景中有许多棕榈树和沙滩。 我不这么认为。 您无法在那个迷你戈迪·霍恩（Goldie Hawn）迷幻的迷幻般的乳房和这些弯曲的臀部。 我需要更重要的东西。 我需要大量的塞内加尔棉花庭院，带有明亮的蜡染图腾和所有祖国的颜色。 我需要直接从露丝·卡特学校（Ruth Carter School）的瓦卡达（Wakanda）裁缝师，以很好地连接事物，并向世界展示我正在做的事情。 我需要在达霍米（Dahomey），而不是迪斯尼（Mattel）和迪斯尼（Disney）的事实。 认真地说，如果鲍比（Bobby）可以选择，肯（Ken）看起来更像是阿里（Ali）或丹泽尔（Denzel）或英国黑巧克力猫伊德里斯·埃尔巴（Idris Elba）。 那本来是美拉纳多，不是我的坐着，绝不比150粒砂纸更多的圣诞节面料。 他会像漫威·塔卡拉（Marvel T'Challa）一样跌倒，被图帕克（Tupac）醒来，并在像马尔科姆（Malcolm）这样的公司中表现出色。 她会用黑色的黑色嘴唇吻那个男人，而没有向后，郁郁葱葱，郁郁葱葱，充满热带热带丛林。 她本来会在最后一位诗人黑色大腿的每一英寸震颤中卷入她的男人。 如果您不知道，YouTube。 她不需要巴西的屁股，比佛利山庄的乳房或Adobe Photoshop会议的工作。 非洲母亲在一个慷慨的基因组中照顾了这一切，您觉得吗？
[SPEAKER_07]: 如果芭比娃娃有选择，那么您永远无法购买Toys R Us，F.A.O。
[Terry Carter]: Schwartz或Mary Arnold。 她不会是一个假奖杯女友，一侧的女孩或克莱德的邦妮。 她不会是一个美国女孩艾迪（Addie），一个热线的坏人或麦迪舞蹈妈妈。 她不会是女孩玛格·罗比（Margot Robbie），也不是樱桃派（Cherry Pie）的芭比娃娃（Barbie）或P. Diddy Harvey。 我正在用更多的押韵结束流程，只有几个青铜条才能及时结束。 鲍比的一个新手不会代表胡说八道。 兄弟的迫害无法坐在篱笆上。 他的女性真的很大。 一名球员发现他的比赛非常激烈，在爱情的回报中从来没有真正的镜头。 尽管他可以停在宾利（Bentley）或劳斯（Bentley）或劳斯（Bentley），但由于真正的降雨，他会因滑坡而损失。 一个新的芭比娃娃努比安需要疯狂的尊重。 她没有遭受蓝调或疏忽。 她会像戈吉精英一样为她而战。 她不会温柔，谦虚或小。 我敢打赌，这会有所不同。 皮条客或骗子不会成为威胁。 除了印象国债的印象外，它的美丽和智慧也不会出汗。 那个令人惊叹的白色芭比娃娃可以有玩具喷气机，但灵魂飞机尚未降落。 我的非洲女王使真正的扭伤忘记了，尽管我可能想保持这种玫瑰苍蝇。 您可能要保留它。 是的，您可能需要保留它。 一切都很好。 好的，让我们结束我们开始的地方，这与家人在一起，因为每个人，这里的每个人，您都知道并享受，我们喜欢所有挑战热量的人，因为我们知道它在这里与我们在一起。 因此，让我们看看我是否希望能找到它。
[SPEAKER_07]: 你想要厨房桌诗吗？ 好的。 好的。 好的。 好的。
[Terry Carter]: 一切都很好。 我知道我今天说的很多话，今天我们玩的是，我们知道，吸引了不同的和弦，并与所有人产生不同的共鸣。 但是，这首特定的诗，也许是小商店，确实会带来您房屋在某个时候的样子的形象。 我几乎可以保证，无论您来自何处，什么种族，背景，在某个时候，我的祈祷，我的希望是您的房子在某个时候会看起来像它，希望仍然这样做。 这件作品被称为厨房桌子上的诗。 没有人愿意离开。 它们就像胸部的蓝莓一样，建立和满足。 他吃了一顿美餐，玉米和新鲜的收藏品，炸鸡和土豆沙拉。 铃铛胖又丰满。 这是那个房间。 我的上帝和女孩，你现在是认真的吗？ 这是一次真实的对话。 我们是真实的人。 家庭，你知道我在说什么吗？ 我们是家庭。 在门打开之前，您可以闻到爱的味道。 你知道会有核桃蛋糕。 甜茶将被冷冻。 南部人民将从北部逃脱，口音会变稠，该国的阴影很快就会靠近城市。 在碎屑透明之后，他们将留在这张桌子上很长时间，将洗碗，将食物保存或包装在特百惠和Ziplac中。 每个人都会有一个包和一个故事要讲。 男人会打大。 在某些东西中滑倒，某物，某物♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪他总是想离开。 他们就像黑耶稣的眼睛一样，在那种古老的印象中，充满爱心和坚持。 灵魂的食物刮擦了。 我的基因在天空中祈祷，婴儿唱了他的音乐。 每个人都很刺痛和安静。 这是那个房间。 真的很奇怪的父亲。 婴儿癌正在缓解吗？ 教会。 这是一次真实的对话。 我们是真实的人。 家庭。 你知道我在说什么吗？ 我们是家庭。 盟军项目，女士们，先生们。 乔纳森·法根（Jonathan Fagan）在钥匙中。 格雷格·托罗（Greg Toro）在低音上。 他在跑步，伙计。 实际上，他有一段时间有一场婚礼。 这是我的男人。 一切都很好。 看看那个。 他是不诚实的战士。 他将进入小鞭子，然后去康涅狄格州参加婚礼。 一切都很好。 然后是我的男人。 鼓上唯一的一个，唯一一个，戈登角的家伙。 一切都很好。 我们是盟军项目。 明天我们将在梅德福爵士音乐节上返回，并举办两项活动。 我们将有来自 伯克利爵士爵士学院，由Medford Terr-Lynn Carrington领导。 她不会在这里，但是您的学生会这样做，他们可以离开。 他的一位鼓手，一个叫伊万娜·库斯塔（Ivana Cuesta）的年轻女子，将带领这项努力，而她就是22、23岁的Terr-Lenn Carrington，所以您可能想出去看看。 然后我们将 无与伦比的不懈。 好的，实际上是伯克利语音部门总裁的唐娜·麦克埃罗伊（Donna McElroy），然后我们将拥有伯克利（Berkeley）收获部门现任总裁，他的名字叫乔治·罗素（George Russell Jr.）和乔治（George Jr.）和乔治（George），在运动诗歌中。 实际上，实际上，如果可以的话，如果您的星期日允许，应该将其视为旅行，因为它将是 耳环。 很好，所以我们很高兴您和我们在一起，全天冲洗我们。 我希望你有水合。 否则，继续，喝点水，一些冷茶。 如果您有些辣，请继续并得到一些loh。 他们仍然有很多好糖果，比萨饼三明治和羊角面包，以及他们所做的所有这些不同的事情。 我们爱他们。 这是丹麦糕点店。 他们在波士顿和温思罗普拐角处的波士顿大道。