Year 1957 (MCMLVII) was a common year starting on Tuesday (link will display the full calendar) of the Gregorian calendar.
Robert Ivers, AKA Bob Ivers, (December 11, 1934 - 13 February 2003 was an American actor who appeared in films and television in the 1950s and 1960s.
Ivers was born in Seattle, Washington. He attended Tucson High School between 1950 and 1953. He was then was offered scholarships to the Pasadena Playhouse and the University of Arizona. After short time at Pasadena, where the curriculum wouldn't allow him to appear on stage until his second year, he transferred to the University of Arizona where he began appearing in roles during his first year. During this time he had a number of uncredited roles in films such as Broken Lance in 1954 and Violent Saturday in 1955, before finally being signed by Paramount Pictures in 1956 after he was seen performing the lead role in the play Tea and Sympathy.
Ivers played a major role in the 1957 film The Delicate Delinquent, in which he co-starred with Jerry Lewis. In 1957 he also starred in Short Cut to Hell, the only film directed by James Cagney. He also co-starred in 1960 with Elvis Presley in G.I. Blues as 'Cookie', one of Elvis's army buddies stationed with him on base overseas. It was Presley's first film after coming home from the army. He appeared in a number of television series in the late 1950s and early 1960s. He was one of the four stars of the syndicated western series, Pony Express in the 1959-1960 season. The timing of the program coincided with the centennial of the Pony Express. Ivers also appeared on ABC's The Fugitive starring David Janssen, Twelve O'clock High, The Virginian, Bat Masterson, The Untouchables, and Gunsmoke. Ivers was disappointed his acting career stalled by the mid-60s, telling the Yakima Herald-Republic in 1978 that he would have enjoyed the excitement of the Hollywood scene and often contemplated what could have been.
Ray Charles Robinson (September 23, 1930 – June 10, 2004), known by his shortened stage name Ray Charles, was an American musician. He was a pioneer in the genre of soul music during the 1950s by fusing rhythm and blues, gospel, and blues styles into his early recordings with Atlantic Records. He also helped racially integrate country and pop music during the 1960s with his crossover success on ABC Records, most notably with his Modern Sounds albums. While with ABC, Charles became one of the first African-American musicians to be given artistic control by a mainstream record company.Frank Sinatra called Charles “the only true genius in show business.”
The influences upon his music were mainly jazz, blues, rhythm and blues and country artists of the day such as Art Tatum, Nat King Cole, Louis Jordan, Charles Brown, Louis Armstrong. His playing reflected influences from country blues and barrelhouse, and stride piano styles.
Rolling Stone ranked Charles number ten on their list of "100 Greatest Artists of All Time" in 2004, and number two on their November 2008 list of "100 Greatest Singers of All Time". In honoring Charles, Billy Joel noted: "This may sound like sacrilege, but I think Ray Charles was more important than Elvis Presley. I don't know if Ray was the architect of rock & roll, but he was certainly the first guy to do a lot of things . . . Who the hell ever put so many styles together and made it work?"
About 2 minutes past the river where the sinners spent their lonely nights,
there lied a dirt road waiting for us,
hidden were the broken street signs.
There were sweet smells in the air along with the stench of fuck, lies, and Marianne.
"Please take me home..."
Ever get that feeling that you should have kept your clothes on?
Ever get that feeling that they're calling you on?
And did you really think I thought of giving a fuck?
I left you as I met you in the back of my truck.
But I don't regret.
You were pulling on my pant leg.
Those drunken fucks were growing up to me.
Don't call me back.
About 2 minutes past the river where the sinners spent their lonely nights, there lied a dirt road waiting for us, hidden were the broken street signs. There were sweet smells in the air along with the stench of fuck, lies, and Marianne. "Please take me home..." Ever get that feeling that you should have kept your clothes on? Ever get that feeling that they're calling you on? And did you really think I thought of giving a fuck? I left you as I met you in the back of my truck. But I don't regret. You were pulling on my pant leg. Those drunken fucks were growing up to me. Don't call me back. Don't throw up on me. .
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed.
Devoid of conviction, conflicted, annoyed.
Kicked at and worn down. 6 6 6.
Beat. Looking for the next quick fix.
Unpopular prophets with problems
Up against angels in disguise who want to rob them;
Who didnt want to end up crushed by gods embrace
In the age of the cold wind blowing and dogs in space;
Whos faces are fading. Theyre the loneliest drunk.
In empty rooms haunted by Thelonious Monk.
Felonious punks and plate glass squares
That see empty eyes that look straight past theirs.
Street walking cheetahs with a gun in each hand
Who are lost at sea and are desperate to reach land.
Orpheus descending. Swimming in the crooked waters.
Hello Sid Vicious, goodbye Brooklyn Dodgers...
No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to heaven in a little row boat.
1957 Chevy Bel Air. Interior velvet especially.
Bloody probably. Stereo: Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley.
Black Flame Trilogy. Quadruple louder bass.
Battle sites. Little Rock. Satellites in outer space
Words wont help but a few bucks can.
Crew cuts and black leather. Ku Klux Klan.
Men wear hats. In fact, harems are shared.
Opiates addicted to and parents scared.
The underground is real. Delivered greens to river queens.
Perpetual motion of free-thinkers and libertines.
Who suffer alone all night with pains
Hooked on drums and who fight with chains.
Its Faulkner and Baldwin. Insult and curse reality.
Spy vs. spy and the cult of personality.
What can the numbers and the words in my head mean?
Killroy was here and so was Buster Crab and Ed Gein.
No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to heaven in a little row boat.
The pen keeps moving in attempt to sink the jingoes.
Fight em with hula hoops, frisbees and pink flamingoes.
Up running all night. Late sleep ordered.
Have gun will travel. Great leap forward.
Man on the corner with dark glasses free and preaching.
Appetite is monstrous. Diet is Dionysian.
All over the world, so much peril in one show.
Playwright Arthur Miller marries Marilyn Monroe.
Hard rain falling. Babies sleeping in Gods palms.
Alarm clocks ringing. Warrior monks and bomb squads.
Invasion Of The Body Snatchers. Clairvoyants and mediums.
Believers in nothing. Speed freaks and bohemians.
Red is the new black. Identity files.
Rebels and grand dragons. Obscenity trials.
Lolita and Bobby Fisher country. No part is red,
Just black and white. Humphrey Bogart is dead.
No joke. Hit the low note.
Your house that sits behind me
Is covered in ivy green
The windows that we watch from
Are old and chipping at the beam
It takes me away
Takes me away
Takes me away
The scent you wear moves in lines
From your apartment into mine
You act like you don't know me
My god, you tempt my anxious mind
It takes me away
Takes me away
Takes me away
Would it be much better if I knew nothing about you
Would it be much better if I knew nothing about you
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go I...
It takes me away
Takes me away
[Slug]
Hence forth, step within my psychoanalysis
callouses upon my mind make me strain for my lines
out I ripped it, squeeeeezed the brain: it made some liquid
drained it in a cup and then I sipped it
Atmosphere! The mic let me clutch it
thoughts take flight so fit the Slug in your pipe and take a puff kid
fuck it! I heat it like a tea pot - steam hot
upon the roof: shoot a marble with the verbal slingshot
take aim, here I came, I'm the same
Back in '86, I'da tag my name upon your window pane
stained the mind: a deep shade of residue
voices within the head make choices multiple
multiply Spawn, Slug a little buzz
and Atmosphere the scuds, cuz here come the judge
blasted; so past the kid a mic so we can paint this
image of the gifted-anxious, to flip the language
it's the noun meltdown from the outer-shell
now smell the burning flesh fresh from the hell-bound
and come on down here, this mind path, I'm half-
mathematic Atmospheric staff with the rhyme craft
comin to capture, your after-laughter
while I'm hangin from this rafter, I have to rip this rapture
cuz the cramps in my stomach, dismantle
when I tamper wit your amplify, you damn-you die...
Why try?
The sky presents an eternally unfolding spectacle:
One moment puffs of cumulous clouds get across it
and next a billowing thunderhead
perhaps 10 miles high looms over the horizon
probing the structure of the sky...
Why try?
[Slug]
Cause I can read an emcee from front to back
from the cover to the classified - I've pacified
my mind with my rhyme skills - I climb hills
and leap, foolish twitch with a single bound
sending tingles down your spine, designed to swing a pound
this ax_handle_tripled inch_spike_protruding
from the tip of my mic distrubuting fuckin headshots
shots to your head, now your're knee-deep, you need sleep
as you trutch thru the sludge and the slugs and the bird shit
we swarm with the bees and diseases
and even if your deejay was Jesus, you could never fuck with these kids
I've swarmed with the bees and diseases
and even if your deejay was Jesus, you could never fuck with these kids
[Spawn]
Yea muthafucka! you know who you fuckin with
you know what kind ass whooping comes with this
your whole crew could get some of this,
your wack ass fuck kids is what the subject is
roughnecks live, for only a second
then they give oblivion's, what you've stepped in
your reps token, should have been lookin
I'm sick of you bitch-ass crews when:
you tried take what's not your but 'cha couldn't
take mine, your fake rhymes - spit them you shouldn't
what will it be now? another victory
ayo who will it be now? it's Spawn that emcee
complete, a true champ - stamped that on my essence
amped shootin presence, fattenin each fuckin sentence
when its time, then it's time to go
that's what I know, be rippin mics at every show we flow
but who's got my back though?
[Slug]
Stress, Beyond, ANT, the Slug
[Spawn]