4 posts
A conversation yesterday prompted me to think about time and loss in a personal way. Think about it: as a musician, it seems like one is always surrounded by greatness in terms of performances and songs. Upon close examination, you find yourself watching a recent Neil Young concert documentary where he’s playing songs like “I…
I wonder how they do it: save their sins for Saturday, when the sirens at their honky-tonks, their claws attached to whiskey-rocks or draft beer cold enough to freeze a witch’s tit, sing out the same familiar song. I know they must have plugs of wax stuffed in their ears, ’cause they don’t listen to…
Just like everybody, I try to get along; but I can’t win for losing, things always turn out wrong. Need to have a membership, but I have an objection to the dues. I’ve got the feeling non-essential, clearly quintessential lowdown existential blues. I could stand for something, but really, what’s the point? It’s not like…
Being the King of Americana might mean nobody knows your name: except for the local bartenders who still serve you just the same, while you’re sitting on the mike for three hours, singing songs that nobody knows, wearing out strings for a hobby that brings in about thirty dollars a show. Being the King of…