My dream is to fly over the rainbow so high official video

#My dream is to fly over the rainbow so high official video plus
#My dream is to fly over the rainbow so high official video tv

The next five years in Warren were something out of вЂњThe Wonder Years.вЂќ There were families with children everywhere, cul-de-sacs and kids on bikes. After one year, the family moved to Warren, about seven miles east of Royal Oak. All are clinics on fingerstyle guitar (except the last, on uke).ДЄn only child, Jim was born in Royal Oak, Mich., about a 20-minute drive north of Detroit.

#My dream is to fly over the rainbow so high official video plus

Other video links Jim sent at my request feature DylanвЂ™s вЂњGirl From the North Country,вЂќ Fleetwood MacвЂ™s вЂњNever Going Back,вЂќ The BeatlesвЂ™ вЂњSheвЂ™s Leaving HomeвЂќ and SpringsteenвЂ™s вЂњThunder RoadвЂќ plus вЂњSomewhere Over the Rainbow,вЂќ played back-to-back on ukulele. When I describe this video, and numerous others to friends, I find myself using the term вЂњjaw-droppingвЂќ often. On the video, we can still watch as Jim rips through вЂњCanвЂ™t Buy Me Love,вЂќ using only an acoustic guitar, throwing in lead melody licks amid the strumming, his voice a McCartneyesque doppelganger. He was slated to perform their 26-minute set solo, from that first Philly concert (as a headline act featuring other bands, the Beatles set was relatively short).

#My dream is to fly over the rainbow so high official video tv

On one video, he is shown being interviewed in 2008 on a TV station promoting an anniversary show of the first Beatles concert in Philadelphia. YouTube is a treasure-trove of his live exploits. He does Beatles covers well enough to be a guest player, from time to time, in the Cadillac of Beatles tribute bands, The Fab Faux. He does rock/pop as assuredly as anyone, and does the singer/songwriter acoustic thing as well or better than anyone. What I didnвЂ™t know until I downloaded JimвЂ™s entire discography was that his range is off the charts. TheyвЂ™ve mainly been little love letters saying, вЂњThanks for the thrill.вЂќ They happened to be about people in the genre I generally prefer: musicians usually playing wooden instruments in the roots-based arena. These stories have never had a great impact on anyoneвЂ™s career. From the beginning some 12 years ago, they have always been primarily about one thing: the transmission of joy. The stories appearing here have never been just about that. This is not just the story of a man with an acoustic guitar who writes songs and sings them.

A cartoon version of me would show a hamster pushing a button to get his ecstasy-laden pellets, winding up prostrate and exhausted.

And so I have, over and over, pushing the left side of the iPod wheel, again and again. As the womanвЂ™s voice on the GPS says: вЂњYou have arrived at your destination.вЂќ Joy unfettered. Do I get carried away? Yes, I get carried away. Jim floats there too, the arm of his pick hand extended at the finish of a power chord. In the cornball video in my mind, kids ping-pong off a trampoline and float in slow motion, hanging in mid-air, their hair flying in every direction.

Sent from the soul of a cockeyed optimist, the song was/is a perfect marriage of a hypothesis and its musical expression: We can change our lives when we believe we can. He sang: LetвЂ™s begin with a fact / Science tells us thereвЂ™s a pact / made between each action and something that reacts / Things that seem out of range all obey a law of change / Put thoughts into motion watch things rearrange / Live the proof we can create our circumstance / Live the proof nothing is ever left to chance / ItвЂ™s no dream we can begin the world anew / Here and now live the proof. The cumulative effect put a rocket payload under every cell in my body and shot me into a stratosphere somewhere in my brain - someplace endorphins form and multiply - with cells subdividing and spreading exponentially. Synthesizer passages twisted giddily through the background, encouraging flight. The singer strode in on his serrated voice, sharp enough to carve a new pathway through my cardiac apparatus. This thing took its opening chunky electric guitar riff and underlaid it with a second jangly guitar and a drum attack tailor-made for my own air-drum fantasies. It struck at the core of where I live and where I dream (that happens to be rockabilly), and took a left turn to someplace else. That songвЂ™s effect on me is different from others over the years in that it didnвЂ™t start with a typically ethereally floating, soaring vocal about something/someone lost, over a nicely plucked Martin, Gibson or you-name-it acoustic guitar. вЂњLive the ProofвЂќ by Jim Boggia came to me, I think, via somebodyвЂ™s song mix collected on a CD.