... look at me. I can't even remain faithful to this blank space that always welcomes me without question. Without warning I come and go, taking for granted that this space is always a couple of clicks away.
I am here again to ramble. Poetic lines have been coursing their way through my mind lately, twelve cans of beer have been staring at me from the refrigerator's bottom and as usual, another lonesome Friday (and Saturday) night (when I ain't got nobody but Sam Cooke to sing to me real sweet) greets me with open abandon -- like the fat great aunt with arms wide open beckonin' you for some sugar; she who always reeks of moth balls but you know you've got to hug her tail anyway ...
I pre-ordered Ray's new cd and got some free downloads. They's a'ight. John Brown's Body has a song, "Heart and Soul," that has that Jamaican beat that totally makes you wish you were on a beach with a couple of cold ones and a bonfire. I don't care what's going on, but a good Marley-esque beat makes me feel jus' alright. His pseudo-Marley singing leaves much to be desired though. This is what happens I guess when your band name is all about some man's body. At camp there was a song about a John Brown, I think. I think in that case his Ford had a puncture in his tire. Seems somehow fitting here as well.
A live version of Ray singin' Jolene was a part of the package though, and I love this lyric:
A man needs something he can hold onto
A nine pound hammer or a woman like you.
It's something that I heard and it just sank and sat with me, but as soon as I typed it there, I began wondering what in tarnation is he talking about? This is what happens when over-thinking takes place ... one begins to worry-wonder.
Also, this reminds me of my next case for the most misheard lyrics ever: Rock the Casbah. Had no clue what they were singing, no clue what the song was about AT ALL. I look the lyrics up, though, and for three plays it didn't seem as great, but with the continued replaying (which is just what I do) I liked it more and more. Before it was totally a song I'd just be jumping around to with absolutely no clue as to what it was about - so carefree that I'd most definitely be the person who's caught hollerin' somethin' insane if the DJ were to cut the music ... somethin' like, "La cherie's romantique! Rock the Casbah. Rock the Casbah."
Moving on to speak a piece about a new joint of mine - Buddy Guy & Tracy Chapman and some "Ain't No Sunshine."
Shiyid. It's hard for me to rank things, but this bassline and the one in Billie Jean seriously some stank lickin' goin' on up in these songs. I have always loved this song though. It takes me back to Sunday late afternoons when I'd be ridin' in the back seat on 123 from Clemson back home. Sunday night flashback on the radid-e-o. This was totally one of those songs I'd be singing along to causing my mom to laugh at me as she glanced in her rearview to see me lost in it, bobbin' my head and rockin' like I knew what Bill Withers was talkin' about.
It's likely that I did -- and do.
And I am not one to linger in the rain, but if ever there was a song that would show me lost and lolling around on some pavement in a cold, wet and dusky rainshower, this would be it.
This also reminds me that I need to invest in a new trenchcoat.
Speaking of Buddy Guy, I've also got one of the songs with Santana. "I Put a Spell On You." Mercy. I think Santana's sole purpose with his music is to make everyone think, feel and believe that they could salsa their tail off anytime, anyplace. I don't know anything about guitars and how people craft and create their unique sounds, but I always know some Santana when I hear it and I loves it (the same with Clapton, B.B. and some Bonnie Raitt). Just seductive - like sweat in close quarters with someone you know who makes you want to do some thangs in some close quarters.
I don't think it's too late for me to get over my stage fright. Do you?
Because I for real would greatly prefer the musician's lifestyle at this point. I don't like traveling on buses at all, but I could make an exception for this line of work. I really am in love with the idea of runnin' into people and being like, "What are you doing?"
"Oh, we're just eatin', hangin', and then later we're gonna go into the studio and mess around. You in?"
Uh, let me check my palm pilot ...
Please.
You can axe me one time. That's right. Axe. Oncet is all it'll take. Just oncet (also pronounced as "wohnst").
(Two years from now I'm going to regret that I typed "axe" and let it stay there. Like it'll be a serious detriment to my canon one of these days. Critics will slay me for the gross misuse of language, but by that time I will be old and set in my ways and most likely set in some "tea" like my dad who used to say to all criticisms, "Three pigs in a bucket, and a bad muthafuck it.")
Lonely poetic pieces inspired by that which continues to elude
it's friday night and i wonder
where you are
what you do -- but mostly
who's keeping you?
...
saturday night comes
gently passing me over
missing me like mist.
...
weekend woe. those two days for which so many of us live. they mean so little to me right now.
and nay, i do not wallow in the corner of my room
but this week's end reveals no beginning to me
there is no break
in this here and now
no relief in that which i don't even know what will one weekend be.
there is only me
(and jill scott)
one is the magic number.