Coffee, dark and often, quesadillas, Garcia Marquez with his ghosts and bags of bones, the Beats, City Lights, Pacific Ave. in Santa Cruz, before the quake, when people had names like Bliss and Sunshine and White Feather, tripping in the hills by the university, the Ramones, getting crushed in the front row at the Catalyst, sweating, my arms shielding my date, X, Exene snapping at me during an interview, Wilco, greeting Tweedy out in front of Slim's, dogs, even the one that attacked me as a kid, Don Quixote, sleeping in a field beside the train station in Barcelona, Las Ramblas, the scent of paella, Houston, the Texas Hill Country, swimming in the river in Llano, TX by the railroad hotel, but diving back to the Pacific Coast, standing on the railroad tressle above the boardwalk, waiting for the fog to burn off, and stones, everywhere, throwing at anything, loving every minute. But before all of that, my grandfather, after my grandmother died, alone but not complaining, reading, laughing, watching baseball, the roses growing, fast food and cigars, adoring us. And a bit later, 15 years old, meeting Melissa, Melinda and Julie on the Village Green, sirens on bikes, all smiles and songs, crashing my ship on their summer stones, gratefully.
Sounds Like
Neil Young, if he couldn't write very well, played guitar with his hands wrapped in thick bandages, and had been greatly influenced by his own songs.
From Ohio to Texas to California, back to Texas, through the dot-bomb in San Francisco, then north of the Golden Gate to the hills of Sonoma County. Working with what I've got. Playing music and writing stuff as it appeals to me. No air conditioning anywhere in sight. Animals graze in the fields nearby, ignoring me. Dogs come by for a visit, seeking affection and leftovers. Don't pick the wildflowers, please. You won't hear gunshots in these peaceful hills. The creek is dry, but just wait till January! Gopher dirt makes great mud pies. Watching my girl grow. She wasn't that big yesterday. Glowing afternoon sunshine. Wild turkeys strut down the drive. Throwing gravel through a hole in a stump. Finding the sort of love that works within these walls. Smiling.
I just listened to those 2 tracks, they DO sound pretty darn awesome! (if I do say so myself...) especially the "cell phone solo" in Slide. lets make a record!
jeff, how'd last nite go? wish i could have gone. the craftfair is something on my list. kate wolf first but only fri nite so we'll be back in time for PCF. so long martini ;-)
Sonoma Aroma- what a postive spin on the acrid stank that covers this AG town for several months of the year! I'll take Sonoma Aroma over Boston harbor at low tide any day!
Jeff! It's been a while- what's shakin'? Did you check out the classic car festival in P- town last weekend? Hope you are well and happy and making music. Looking forward to the Aquas gig. Many cups of coffee and croissants will be consumed that morning :)
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hey jeff, thanks very much for stopping by and sending the note. sorry it took me awhile to get back to you. I hope to cross paths with you one of these days...hopefully up in Sonoma county! I'm always looking for an excuse to head up there. Anyway, all the best, mike
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