Singing songs of love and destruction.
Nothing looks quite as cool as a well worn Fender Telecaster. Don’t you think? This one belonged to Joe Strummer of the Clash.
Sometimes it seems the only thing that makes sense is a song or two. And I don’t know what it says about me that lately what makes sense is 90’s guitar rock. The Gin Blossoms, Counting Crows, Matchbox Twenty and even the dreaded Hootie and the Blowfish. These bands have been my music of choice as of late. Though to redeem myself my Nick Cave obsession usually kicks in at about midnight. And I’ve been listening to a fair amount of blues too. And I am listening to the Violent Femmes as I write this. They and the Dead Milkmen were my introduction to the fact that what was being played on the radio and television wasn’t the only music out there. At 13 my friend Robert gave me a cassette copy of Dead Milkmen’s “Big Lizard In My Backyard” and I thought it was like this magic music that only special people get…I was right about only certain people. But it was a great way to learn to dig for better than the stuff being shovelled at me. And singing “Taking Retards To The Zoo” at the top of my lungs in the Junior High halls was always good for a shocked look or two.
Yeah so maybe I am feeling nostalgic for a different time. A time where I thought things were so dramatic and vibrant. And that I thought my world was so crazy. But of course I had no clue. Back then though, it was all an adventure. And every girl was beautiful and I fell in love ever day a dozen times. Every night had some promise of something wild and something world shaking. Every piece of crappy poetry or ridiculous story I wrote was worthy of prize and fame. And it at least made it easier to make my way into a fair maiden’s bed chambers. What? Why else would any young man write a poem, song or hit a guitar? You want art for art sake go look at those over thirty. Anyone younger is doing art for the sake of being the coolest guy on the corner and getting laid. I am nothing if not honest. I ain’t pretty and I am socially inept, so the best way to make a girl look twice was to make art. And the tortured artistic soul act is a guaranteed panty remover on women up to about the age of thirty. Then they get wise and we become bums and cons.
I am not going to discount the gift of art and the artistic ability. But hey man, Joe Strummer wrote just as many songs about girls as he did about fighting a crazy system.
It’s all relative I think. Anyway this was a slow ramble around my cluttered mind.
Peace be upon you and remember, three chords and the truth.