#nurit

[walidsweteyes]

submissions are open and if you're like timid about your Nurit girlboss content fear not this is a NURIT SLAYBOSS FRIENDLY BLOG💃💃💃

[merchantservices444]

Nurit Credit Card Processing Terminals: A Comprehensive Overview

[bobdylan-n-jonimitchell]

Joni Mitchell, January 5, 1971 © Nurit Wilde.

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork on the set of The Monkees episode “Fairy Tale.” Photo by Nurit Wilde.

In the comments section of that Instagram post (from October 7, 2020)...

“What!!?? So cool!” - stephenstillsofficial

[nezarchive]

photo credit: Nurit Wilde 

Michael Nesmith pictured with engineer Hank Cicalo during sessions for The Wichita Train Whistle Sings, which were held the weekend of the 18th and 19th of November, 1967. The sessions employed some of the top players in L.A. at the time, among them Hal Blaine, Tommy Tedesco, James Burton, Doug Dillard, Don Randi, Frank Capp, Earl Palmer, and future musical collaborator Red Rhodes. This date marks Rhodes and Nesmith’s first time recording in the studio together. 

The recordings consisted of big band arrangements of songs that Michael had written for the Monkees, a collaboration with arranger Shorty Rogers. Originally, the output of the sessions were not slated for commercial release, but eventually were released by Dot Records in July 1968 as The Wichita Train Whistle Sings. The album was not commercially successful, peaking at number 144 on the Billboard Pop Albums Chart.

“...I recorded it with my own money. It cost fifty or sixty thousand dollars, a stupid sum of money. The album was not only to put together a different picture of the tunes I’d written for the Monkees and give them vent in my own way, rather than have them so highly manipulated, but also to have a record that would document the coalescence of the finest session men in L.A. at the time.” - Interview with John Tobler and Pete Frame, Zigzag Magazine, 1974.

“Everybody wanted to be on the session... Finally I asked Michael why he had called for such a costly session. He explained that Uncle Sam was about to remove 50 grand from his pocket and, instead of paying the taxes, he decided to spend it on a racuous write-off. The Nesmith dates came off without a hitch. It was the greatest party I’ve ever been invited to. Two days of Chasen’s food, and more music than you can expect in a lifetime." - Hal Blaine, Hal Blaine and the Wrecking Crew, 1990.

“Wichita Train Whistle isn’t a roaring success, someone pointed out to me the other day. My exact words were something to the effect of “too bad.” People think I can’t take setbacks for some reason. Well, that’s not the case...I like recording music that I know is not commercial. It’s my thing. It’s catharic for me and often times it’s what I get out of it that counts in the long run.” - Tiger Beat, November 1968. 

[meadow-dusk]

[chaoticdesertdweller]

Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, December 9, 1967. Photo by Nurit Wilde.

[ninetimesbluedemo]

okay who wants to take bets on what the monkees fbi file says in it

[walidsweteyes]

every time.

sagi went to see nurit.

it's because he was covering for her strapping gali.

if you know, you know.

[forcedfemme-me]

Audrey Nurit by ezra petronio for self service

[pushingthewave]

In this week's column, I discover new music on Apple’s Classical app, and am reminded why I dislike Solti’s Ring Cycle.

[thislovintime]

Photo by Nurit Wilde.

“Tork relaxing 1967.” - Nurit Wilde, Instagram, October 19, 2020

And in the comments section of this post...

“Oh, wow. Fantastic shot.” - stephenstillsofficial

[nezarchive]

Photo credit: Nurit Wilde

Michael Nesmith and the First National Band playing at the Troubadour in West Hollywood, Los Angeles, June 2-7, 1970.

The Troubadour was one of the folk clubs in LA where Michael played prior to being cast on the Monkees, when he was performing both as a solo artist under the name Michael Blessing and with various folk groups, including a group with Bill Chadwick and fellow FNB member John London. In 1965 he worked at the club as the “Hootmaster” of the Monday night Hootenannies, introducing the acts who were performing as well as playing his own set.

sources: The Monkees, the day-by-day story of the 60s TV pop sensation - Andrew Sandoval, Rock Prosopography 101 on Blogspot 

[meadow-dusk]

Nurit Wilde with Neil Young and Stephen Stills ©️ Henry Diltz, 1966

[chaoticdesertdweller]

"I would work (busk) from about 7:30 until 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning. I used to hope that I would make 15¢ in the first couple of sets so I could go across the street and have a slice of pizza for breakfast."- Stephen Stills via Facebook

📸 Nurit Wilde

[brutulist]

@eclipsedt : movie nights were an excuse. an excuse to drape a blanket over their laps. an excuse to share a bowl of snacks. an excuse to have the little game of tug before it gave her an excuse to lay against his side. an excuse to rest her head against his shoulder and to doze off, the movie entirely disregarded. only one problem … ' I’m cold. ' she murmurs, nearly half-asleep. she wants him to drape his arm over her shoulder.

WHATEVER THEY HAVE ( a friendship, right? ) IS A RESULT OF MANY SMALL MOVES : similar to an invasive species ( were they called hogweeds? ), he encroaches on her space day by day . . . it starts innocuously — a plant in his left hand, a paper bag of groceries in the other, and a smile that won’t take no for an answer. then there’s his trademark bibimbap and the chase around the kitchen armed with chopsticks and determination, somewhere among the many nubbins of trinkets, there’s the forgotten lighter ( totally not on purpose, what are you accusing him of? ) and the box of cigarettes on the windowsill, at one point, a loud crash and many porcelain shards later, he promises to buy her a new ashtray ( it’s yellow & honeybees decorate its edges, he makes a comment about how it fits the decor ). he’s already chosen a mug to call his own, and accuses her of theft when she uses it, nevermind that it's hers to begin with, but now it sits in the stream of luminous glow from the TV, steam curling into the air. she shifts, jabs an uncomfortable knee into his thigh ( she’d make a good fighter, he notes, but she’s more of a nurturer, the red of roses suits her better than that of spider lilies ) so he shifts, too, stretches his arms and yawns ( oldest trick in the book ) and rests his arm behind her . . . the voices from the TV are caught on a ruminative journey about life and love, they drone on and on, weaving into an auditory blanket that tucks them both in, almost puts her to sleep ( feel that? a head on his shoulders ), and then she speaks : it’s different than the colorful cast of the movie she’s chosen, softer and closer and makes the thump-thumping of his heart unnatural. ‘ really? i thought you were nurit, ‘ there’s something akin to pride that unrolls across the slopes of his words, and the smile that dangles from the end of his sentence feels almost feline in the satisfaction it brings him. but he’s been a teenager once, and still speaks the language of what they refuse to name, so he shifts again, his arm lowers from its comfortable position across the sofa and onto her shoulder ( she’s warm and it almost melts the thoughts right off the folds of his mind ) he faces forward, sparing her only a cursory glance.