Wednesday, July 26, 2006
You hoo and a hearty heigh ho silver. The New Lost City Ramblers ride again, and while the new fangled kids have names like Duh-uh-aah-wow-Dao, they're garnering new fans everywhere they play on the Left Coast.
[I was so happy to read that post! I was also happy that particular writer/listener said he never took to the Byrds. Me neither, and not even at the time. Remember that business in Venice 1965, the person walking out the door with the guy who drove the black saloon? I knew him, they knew each other, and he wanted to make a career in show business. About this time, he'd heard a patently false radio rumor disguised as metro dj report that the English band I was beginning to dislike (see the Freaks post below) had been in an airwreck a la Holly/Valens/Bopper and endless unknown numbers of short-hop puddle jumping sky king C&W musicians commuting to a job, and he'd told me his "heart dropped" when he heard that news. That incident, the "reportage" of which spun on out for hours to tantalize, torture, or otherwise emotionally impact susceptible or interested listeners eventually proved to be false, yet with relief and continued reflection on his part, became momentous in significance, nearly indescribable but of near cosmic proportion, that is to say in other more mundane language a meaningful event if even a non-event as it acted as a signal to him, allowing him realize how important music was becoming. He'd also told me he'd never paid much attention to music before, but now he felt more personally involved. By now, you see, his neighbors were "The Byrds" (he said then to me with much respect and with surprise that I didn't swoon with delight by mere mention of their name, that is as if I should know immediately who they were) and he grabbed his first gig as their roadie or something. And despite everything, I was happy in a way for him that music was beginning to transform into something significant for him and not continue to exist merely as something that comes across the radio to while away the driving time.] ¶ 7/26/2006 01:10:00 PM
[I was so happy to read that post! I was also happy that particular writer/listener said he never took to the Byrds. Me neither, and not even at the time. Remember that business in Venice 1965, the person walking out the door with the guy who drove the black saloon? I knew him, they knew each other, and he wanted to make a career in show business. About this time, he'd heard a patently false radio rumor disguised as metro dj report that the English band I was beginning to dislike (see the Freaks post below) had been in an airwreck a la Holly/Valens/Bopper and endless unknown numbers of short-hop puddle jumping sky king C&W musicians commuting to a job, and he'd told me his "heart dropped" when he heard that news. That incident, the "reportage" of which spun on out for hours to tantalize, torture, or otherwise emotionally impact susceptible or interested listeners eventually proved to be false, yet with relief and continued reflection on his part, became momentous in significance, nearly indescribable but of near cosmic proportion, that is to say in other more mundane language a meaningful event if even a non-event as it acted as a signal to him, allowing him realize how important music was becoming. He'd also told me he'd never paid much attention to music before, but now he felt more personally involved. By now, you see, his neighbors were "The Byrds" (he said then to me with much respect and with surprise that I didn't swoon with delight by mere mention of their name, that is as if I should know immediately who they were) and he grabbed his first gig as their roadie or something. And despite everything, I was happy in a way for him that music was beginning to transform into something significant for him and not continue to exist merely as something that comes across the radio to while away the driving time.] ¶ 7/26/2006 01:10:00 PM
