What a colossal waste of time I did on Instagram, it’s the only social media account. I posted art there and it’s just been a bunch of time I could have used making art and music instead. Had time to create a video and work on a new version of an old song I wrote.
My friend that traveled with me said this one thing that music is magic and it is all that creates reality. I didn’t understand that until things I wrote in songs started to happen in my life in the future. That’s where I will leave off. Grateful to join this community.
Sometimes a song writes itself, coming from the depths of an unexpressed desire or loss, guided by the mysterious forces of nature. “West Coast Blues” is a story of grieving, mixed with a touch of sunshine, exploring the gray area we call being human.
sometime in 1979, i went to the whiskey a go go with some friends to see randy hansen, the jimi hendrix impersonator. while i liked music as a kid, but hendrix was the first music i really dug. i can’t remember how many of us were there, maybe 3 or 4 kids, age around 14.
the show was amazing. randy came out in a coffin with purple dry ice, and he did a good job of impersonating hendrix hits. while i’d been to a number of big venue concerts, this was the first club gig i’d ever been to.
a few weeks later, we went back to the whiskey to see another show…
The shortest version of this story is I drove 8 hours to watch my dad die and then wrote a song about other things. Also here is a picture of my mom’s dog and I. It seems to make that first sentence sting a little less.
I have often found that maturity is among the greatest of virtues, for it is the juvenile who often sit and wonder why they are disliked.
I told this to a friend in late 2016. He later told me it changed his outlook on life quite a bit. Beforehand, he had been involved in some… less than savory activities, trying his hardest to hold onto his own childishness, as though it would somehow protect him from the real world. He told me that he thought about what I said, and thought enough to realize that he wanted to change.
I try my hardest to live by that. However, this has not been the only obstacle I’ve been faced with in my short life.
Seemingly unnaturally bound to an almost comically ignorant lover the story of Tin Spurs would start unraveling itself to me like Orpheus’ melodies echoing back from a once true and vibrant love of life and those I had shared it with.