It's sweet but it's brief. Don't let anyone get you off track. Remind yourself often that your heroes screwed up every now and then, too. Keep your eye on the ball. It's never about what you've done. It's about what you're doing. Give away all your love. It's like red blood cells. You'll just keep making more.
Stand up for peace. Point out injustice. Speak for the ones without a voice, not just the humans.
There's a song called "Sweet Gene Vincent." He was, in fact, a very sweet guy. That's the only side of him that I ever saw. This shot is of me and Gary Dobbins onstage at Curtis Hixon in Tampa with him on the first night of a short tour. He was shy that first day. He told us that he didn't really play guitar, then took Gary's telecaster and amazed us as he tore through his song list, showing us what he had in mind.
The airline had lost his luggage so he was without his beloved "leathers." He just didn't feel like a rock'n'roll star out there in that mustard colored coat and black bell bottoms. By the next night the missing suitcase had caught up with us and Gene took the stage in his proper black attire. A different person, he tore the walls down.
There are lots of stories out there about guns and craziness and Gene certainly had a taste for the whisky. When the dust settles, literally, it's all about what they remember. Be-Bop-A-Lula.
Yeah, I've mentioned it before. You have no idea how many folks have suggested that death would be a big career move for me. Some of them were kidding. Some day, I suppose, some of you will find out. In the meantime I'm ready for lunch.
Seems weird that every candidate wants to be the underdog. We root for the poor loser but we vote for the guy who leads in the polls. I guess we mostly want to support the little guy but at the end of the day we want to go to the victory celebration.
I've always been for the underdog. When Castro rode into Havana on the front end of a tank and Ed Sullivan cut to the scene live I was fascinated. What could have been more exciting than watching young Cassius Clay whip the daylights out of Sonny Liston?
I played psychedelic rock'n'roll until Jimi emerged. When I played on a show with him I played in my first country rock'n'roll group, Your Local Bear. By the time that southern California thing happened I had moved on. I guess I still want to do whatever you shouldn't.
All of this comes to mind because I seem to have lived my life in much the same manner. I've zigged when zagging was the fashion. I have pioneered new dimensions in failure, personal and business.
Now here I am. I've fought hard for this spot. I'm not about to screw it up by rolling into Havana or knocking some big, mean guy down. No hit records, either. I have no act. This is me. I like it here.
Another one of those concepts that I have no use for, writer's block. Then again, I have nothing to say. Cat's got my tongue.
I remember reading an interview with Chuck Berry when I was a kid where he turned aside a compliment about being the genius who invented rock'n'roll by insisting that he had only written a couple of songs. At the time I thought that my hero was just being humble and shy. Of course I found out over time that Chuck is neither humble or shy.
It took me years to figure out that I've only written two or three things. Then I write 'em again. Sometimes you just don't have anything to say.
Out of a century of heartbreak and hate, bigotry and meanness, rose some of the finest art, music and literature that the world has ever known. The sadness of a Stephen Foster melody perfectly frames the American attitude towards the descendants of the slaves brought to this continent. Oh, I don't single out Foster as a racist any more than I do Mark Twain. They reflect their own time and their own history. In fact, I think it's vital to have reminders of a terrible cultural flaw. What if there were no history books to remind us of Auschwitz.
Somehow we are left with the gifts of W.E.B. Dubois, Duke Ellington, Spencer Williams, Ernie Barnes and so many without names now. We have rock'n'roll and we have jazz, sometimes referred to as the only American art form.
It's a shameful smear on our society that we allowed open bigotry in this country for such a long time. The fact that we gained so much from these victims is ironic and sweet. Peace and love is hard work.
Just came in from talking to reporters on the sidewalk. I lost a very dear friend yesterday. The rotor came off of the helicopter that Larry was piloting and plunged into the bay.
Bad way to be reminded of an important lesson. It's all about loss and most of it is not important. Some of it is. Spend the necessary time working on your IRA but never the time that you could be loving.
It's sweet but it's brief. Don't let anyone get you off track. Remind yourself often that your heroes screwed up every now and then, too. Keep your eye on the ball. It's never about what you've done. It's about what you're doing. Give away all your love. It's like red blood cells. You'll just keep making more.
There's a song called "Sweet Gene Vincent." He was, in fact, a very sweet guy. That's the only side of him that I ever saw. This shot is of me and Gary Dobbins onstage at Curtis Hixon in Tampa with him on the first night of a short tour. He was shy that first day. He told us that he didn't really play guitar, then took Gary's telecaster and amazed us as he tore through his song list, showing us what he had in mind.
Yeah, I've mentioned it before. You have no idea how many folks have suggested that death would be a big career move for me. Some of them were kidding. Some day, I suppose, some of you will find out. In the meantime I'm ready for lunch.
Seems weird that every candidate wants to be the underdog. We root for the poor loser but we vote for the guy who leads in the polls. I guess we mostly want to support the little guy but at the end of the day we want to go to the victory celebration.
Another one of those concepts that I have no use for, writer's block. Then again, I have nothing to say. Cat's got my tongue.
Out of a century of heartbreak and hate, bigotry and meanness, rose some of the finest art, music and literature that the world has ever known. The sadness of a Stephen Foster melody perfectly frames the American attitude towards the descendants of the slaves brought to this continent. Oh, I don't single out Foster as a racist any more than I do Mark Twain. They reflect their own time and their own history. In fact, I think it's vital to have reminders of a terrible cultural flaw. What if there were no history books to remind us of Auschwitz.
Just came in from talking to reporters on the sidewalk. I lost a very dear friend yesterday. The rotor came off of the helicopter that Larry was piloting and plunged into the bay.