You Gotta Have Rhythm

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=110 BGCOLOR="#111111" TEXT="#F7F7FF" bgproperties="fixed" background="04900840dyxtip.gif"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFFFFF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>The First Church of Holy Rock and Roll</B></FONT><B>     |     </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The First Church of Holy Rock and Roll"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <B>You Gotta Have Rhythm</B>   |   <A HREF="id31.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Gotta Have Soul"><U>You Gotta Have Soul</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id32.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Gotta Have Laffs"><U>You Gotta Have Laffs</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id33.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Gotta Have Kicks"><U>You Gotta Have Kicks</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id34.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Gotta Have Your Mojo Workin"><U>You Gotta Have Your Mojo Workin'</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id35.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Your Partys Gotta Be Open"><U>Your Party's Gotta Be Open</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id36.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Gotta Have Attitude"><U>You Gotta Have Attitude</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id37.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Cant Lick Boots"><U>You Can't Lick Boots</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id38.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Cant Navel Gaze (Too Much)"><U>You Can't Navel Gaze (Too Much)</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="You Cant Deal Bullshit"><U>You Can't Deal Bullshit</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=190 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" background="04311c00egerdp.gif"> <div> <B><IMG SRC="0bd2e2f0.jpg" border=0 width="302" height="303" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=370 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> Commandment One: You Gotta Have Rhythm</div> <div> You can't realize your potential if you're sitting on your ass. You're wasting what the Holy Rock and Roll Ghost done gave you: thousands of internal twitch-codes waiting to be unlocked by fast and furious drums, a military bass, a twanging (or scraping) (or stabbing) (or exploding) (or chink-a-chinking) guitar, a rolling piano (no, we haven't heard a fresh one of those in these parts since Fess died, have we, folks?), wake-the-dead horns. The needle hits the record. You get up. You move this way and that. It feels good. You can't stop. Your shirt's drenched. You're far away now, from piling up nuts in your cave, from baring your teeth at the other animals, from wondering if you're gonna make it through winter. <I>You're in touch with the rock and roll world. You're in touch with </I><I><B>salvation</B></I><I>--yeah, I </I><B>said</B> <I>it...what of it, ye deaf, soulless, humorless heathens? </I>Temporary, you say? Not if it's a ritual. Not if you get outta the stands, and into the game...the <I>rhythm</I> of the game...24-7, 365. In the immortal words of Sam the Sham, "Let's not be L-7/Let's learn to dance." Alone, together, on the dance floor, in front of your bedroom or bathroom mirror, hell, in your <I>dreams </I>if your obstacles are too daunting.</div> <bR> <div> Need help? Prophets of twitch-liberation abound in the grooves of rock and roll's holy history. Kick up some sawdust to Bob Wills and his magic Texas Playboys. Float on lazy, shifting clouds with Pres and Lady Day. Grind your groin til your bloodshot eyes bug out along with Mr. Blues, Wynonie Harris. Invent your own one-legged, knee-knocking maneuvers with the help of a tag-team tutorial administered by Brother James, the MGs, and the Meters. Space-boogie in an ancient trance induced by the Arkestra. Too sophisticated to get this far out? No problem: Slap on some Chic for some <I>elite</I> syncopation. If you need your instruction brand-spanking-new, well, the gospel of body-movin' hasn't been fully co-opted by techno machines; the Human Underground Stasis Resistance Squad is in full effect, behind a plethora of masks (that means you may have to<I> look hard</I> for 'em). Goodie Mob, Ray Condo and the Ricochets, and James Carter, among others, are stirring new spices into old recipes for butt-shaking, ankle-twisting, back-breaking communing with the Holy Rock and Roll Ghost. </div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>