No Terror

No violence, few arrests. The cops took extra box lunches to the campers at Romneyville, the little tent city set up in downtown Tampa. The chants from the protesters were clever, not mean.

"Take off that riot gear, we don't see no riot here!"

I'm going to see Jon Stewart do his final show from Tampa this afternoon. The jokes about my hometown have been really funny. I get asked frequently why I stay here. Usually the point is that there is no music business here. My heart's here. It's been busted and patched back up so many times that I've lost count. I'll tell you a little secret. I don't like the music business. I like music. Lots of the folks that I like to play music for live around here.

Go Long, Go Deep

Battery charging time. I'm starting my new play. If I'm not working, I'm not happy. Let's have a party. Whatta ya think?

Shrimp Boats Were A Comin'

Once rock'n'roll arrived I always detested that really bad pop music on Your Hit Parade. The only thing worse than listening to Snooky Lanson warbling Shrimp Boats Are A Comin' was to sit through his feeble attempt to rock the television in a leather jacket with the collar turned up fumbling Hound Dog.

Sometimes these memories cause me to forget how much I love good pop music. I wish I wrote more "moon, June, spoon" stuff. Walkin' My Baby Back Home is one of my all time favorite songs. When the rockers turn crooners and Clarence "Frogman" Henry lets go with (I Don't Know Why I Love You) But I Do or You Always Hurt The One You Love I'm there!

Let's face it, Bob Dylan was having as much fun with I'll Be Your Baby Tonight as he ever had with Blowin' In The Wind. Yeah, I know. Woody loved that pop stuff as much as he loved the world changers, too. Little Richard will knock you out of your socks with his version of By The Light Of The Silvery Moon. That one literally contains "moon, June, spoon."

If changing the world is my job and singing songs is my only tool I have to be careful. A kid has to have his fun, though.

I've Been Meaning To Write

My reviews of records are in drawers and suitcases all over the house. I wrote reviews for the Tampa Tribune and the old Tampa Times for years. I've never reviewed a release of my own. Kinda' like voting for yourself and getting caught, isn't it? Who cares?

This is the first thing that I have done in five years. Let's see, what do I have to write about? Don't get me started. Oh, too late.

Two wives left, the dog went lame and I was broke. Really broke. Yeah, I was out of money, too. Just to make sure that I didn't miss the biblical slant of the excitement, my doctor told me that he thought I was dying of a weird, rare blood disease.

Well, here we are. I'm poor but I'm happy. I'm alone but I'm alive. The dog is fine and I love her. I'm dying but not of any weird, rare blood disease. I'm dying at the same rate we all are, waiting to be hit by a bus. I may not be all the way back but life sure looks rosy.

This thing opens with a little ditty, My Blood Is Too Red. Guess I already let the cat out of the bag on that one. It's another one of those RE tragedies that I wrote in advance of the sad events that it documents. "How does he do it?" you ask. I don't know but i'm tired of it.

Driving Back In Time follows. I had actually written this for a BAAMO compilation a couple of years ago but had not gotten a chance to do it the way I thought it should be done. I guess we all look back to something. If you look closely enough it may have sad written all over it.

Depending on capital D versus lower case d, the next tune, Goodnight Captain, is dreamy autobiography or the fictional rambling of some guy with too much time on his hands, too much love in his heart and not enough good sense to come in out of the rain. Rebekah Pulley's piano kills me.

As I mentioned in an earlier post These Dreams is probably my favorite song I've ever written. Someone told me the other night that she cried when we played it. Me too. They don't seem to get much better. Not quickly enough.

Fortunately titles can't be copyrighted. A Doctor And A Lawyer was left for me on my desktop. Intentional? I don't know. Unfortunately I didn't have to write a story, just see that it rhymed a bit. Sad.

Handsome Harry The Hipster is just the short version of the story of Harry "The Hipster" Gibson, one of the unsung heroes of rock'n'roll and hip culture. He was the real deal.

A young, talented songwriter named Jason Lutrull sent me something good called Something Bad. I glanced at his e-mail and started to trash it before I even listened to the mp 3 attached. If there's one thing that I have it's plenty of songs. For some reason, though, I listened and thought, "Yeah, I should be doing this." Turns out to be lots of folks' favorite track on the cd. It surely fits the theme and it sure is fun to do. I look forward to meeting Jason and writing something together soon.

I heard Rebekah do Nobody's Cool Any More and knew that I had to record that song. I can't really do it justice. It is her song. Really her song. I thought several years ago that she was so good that she couldn't get any better. She keeps getting better.

I wrote the beginning of Boys In Hot Rods for her to sing. I hear it as a big, melodramatic girl record. She helped me finish up the lyrics but never got around to recording it. It's on here because I can't throw anything out. I look forward to her doing it up right at some point.

In Memphis I mentioned that we should write Jackpot City. She wrote it before I could get to it. Again, it's hers and nobody will ever do a Rebekah Pulley song like Rebekah Pulley.

I'm not sure where Heart That Can't Be Broken comes from. I worry that I don't know one when I see one.

Jamaica And The Angel is very special to me. Jamaica and the Angel are very special to me, too. They take care of me.

I guess Women Leave is nothing but an exercise in self pity. I apologize for having gotten so good at it. I'm pretty sure that I'm finished. No, I'm finished.

The hidden track is the most fun and I'll never get over Little Miss Dynamite. 

Overall, the thing is not much good to dance to but it will serve for drinking purposes. I give it a six and a half. I hope no one is hurt, offended or insulted by my version of my history. I try.

They're Friends

Seems odd that I have such distaste for our current celebrity culture. Without all of my heroes I can't imagine how I might have grown up. Of course Elvis always was and always will be Number One but there's a long list. Don Garlits, Chuck Berry, Audie Murphy, the Beatles and lots of others. I don't want to attempt any real list here because I'm bound to leave several out and come back here tomorrow bothering you with more of this.

Maybe it's the Andy Warhol prediction of everyone's fifteen minutes of fame that came to be and wore me out. I remember watching Orson Bean on talk shows in the early '60's and thinking to myself that this seemingly self-important fop was famous merely for being famous.

At any rate I've never really wanted to be famous. Seems kinda' crazy since I always wanted to be a rock'n'roll star. I always had in mind playing bass, off to one side, behind the singer.

I had to start doing things under my own name when I finally figured out that when you're dealing with grownups someone is always going to be getting married, going away to school, shuffling into rehab or into the monastery. At least as Ronny Elliott I can't just quit. I can't even fire me.

At the little show that we did at the Hideaway Cafe this weekend I realized once again how much these folks mean to me. The ones who come out and share everything with me. They're not fans, they're friends and I wouldn't have it any other way. I wouldn't trade this bunch for the Aerosmith Fan Club roster.

I've got the best friends in the world and I'm lucky enough to know it. Here's a clip that one of them, David Gruskin, shot at the show. The laughter near the end is Isabel, my cousin, George's, wife. My boy cousin, George.

  

This Machine Finds Narcissists

Open your heart and love. The tissue of the eye is the most sensitive. It also heals the quickest. The heart, that's a different story. My friend, Rebekah, told me that once a heart is broken there's always a piece missing. That's alright. You don't have any choice.

Always Start Over

Why do I have such a hard time figuring out the obvious? That's no rhetorical question. Tonight, I start over. Again.

I may not have answers but I feel lucky to have good questions. I'm not the man I've wanted to be but I can be. I want to save the world and I'm gonna need help and lots of it.

There should be plenty of fun involved in your life's work. I plan to have my share. Why keep your pants on if you can take them off? Sing with all the joy you can call up. You don't teach anybody about peace, you remind 'em.

Tonight at the Hideaway Cafe in St. Pete we celebrate the release of my new record, I've Been Meaning To Write. I'm not stupid. This is probably my last cd. It's not just the stage of my life, it's the end of the music business as we've known it. Good riddance.

So the songs and the fun have merely been something of a vehicle for my real work. I'll be reminding and preaching and yelling tonight. No reason for trousers. Merchandise? We've got it. Silk screened t-shirts and tote bags hand done by Rebekah Pulley. She's a genius. An angel, too.

My only fear is the end of the evening.

Disturb

Folks have always asked me, "What's your favorite song that you've written?"I guess I've always struggled with that. Any song always seems a little contrived, a little writerly. Sometimes it's the opposite. Sometimes you wish you had put a little more into it; waited for a better line.

I wrote this on the doorstep of the studio waiting for Steve Connelly to get there. There are no filters here. I always thought that I was struggling for beauty. Now I'm thinking that I've always struggled for honesty. I forgot to put out the "Do Not Disturb" sign.

There are dreams that touch your head, there are dreams that fill your heart, there are dreams that haunt your soul, there are dreams that fall apart.

Netless And Happy

Okay, so Saturday night is my CD release celebration at the Hideaway Cafe in St. Pete. I'm really looking forward to the whole affair.

All of my favorite rock'n'rollers have been fearless. Oh sure, I love a polished, can't go wrong act as much as the next guy. I live for the lunatics, though. The reason that I consider NRBQ the best band ever is their disregard for a plan. They always ran out and Terry Adams began pounding the keys with whatever came to his mind. It didn't always work. On an off night they were merely a damned fine bar band. When the stars lined up, though, magic was knee deep on that stage.

Chinese Mary Jane is my band for this soiree. We're gonna rehearse once between now and then. I have a set list of sorts, too. I don't phone in for shows. I might not have enough left at this point. I never cared for wrestlers who didn't bleed all over the mat. I know that everyone shows up knowing that Dale might turn right at any point. I can't wait.

Fight Fire With Water

As I read the hate tinged comments from the tea party crowd I'm reminded that only love can pull us together. I've lost friends to politics and I don't want to ever lose any more.

We all want what is best for us. We all want to do what is right. The fact that we disagree over ideology  and party is okay. Shake your neighbor's hand. 

Apparently Sarah Palin will be my neighbor next week. I had thought about going to Derek Jeter's door and trying to convince him to come along with me, naked, to deliver a pineapple upside down cake to welcome her and her family to the neighborhood. I'm just gonna skip over the idea that I had of pointing out to her that she can see Ballast Point from her temporary back yard.

Maybe I should just keep my clothes on and take her that cake whether Derek's home or not. I see that he's batting .400 for August. He may be busy.

Let's fix what is broken. The world could use some extra love right now. Whatta' ya got?

Wiring's Wrong

Examining the lining of my heart I worry that hurt and anger and revenge live there and try to hide from me. Sometimes I find myself thinking that we're all wired to hurt someone when we're hurt, that it's all part of the biological fight or flight design to protect ourselves. 

I suppose that I would rather be open and honest and prone to deceit than to close myself off from the love that's all around me. 

Close inspection leads me to believe that I may have pulled for heartbreak at some level for people who have passed through my life when I perceive that they have hurt me. That's just wrong.

I forgive pretty well on the surface but that's not enough. I'm not interested in the burden of the karma of bad wishes. I truly love everybody and forgiveness is the true path to freedom. You don't end war with guns. You don't get to peace of mind through anger.

Here's a song that Danny Finley and I wrote for our long gone friend, Captain Ego. He was a good one.

Pride And Purpose

Sunday brings out the worst in me. I feel a little  restless, almost desperate. I'm only happy if I'm working. Oh, I could write. Let's just be honest here; how many more Ronny Elliott songs does the world need?

It occurs to me at this stage in life that it's a sketchy body of work that I will leave behind. I mean Beckett wrote "Waiting For Godot" before I accidentally began writing it over again. And again.

The weather suits my mood. I hope it rains.

There Goes The Neighborhood, There Goes The Empire

I've always been the straight arrow in most ways. Go ahead, laugh. I know what you're thinking. I'm talking about the stuff they taught me in Sunday school, though. I border on rushing down to police headquarters to confess to crimes that I didn't commit  like those other nuts. I try to tell the truth. I've never been tempted to cheat on my taxes. I've always wanted to do my part.

Now my government, at every level, is owned by monied interests who write tax laws for the hacks to implement. Knowing that we all pay taxes at a higher rate than wealthy folks tempts all of us to consider fudging things a bit I suspect.

We don't discuss cutting a "defense budget" which fuels war all over the world to benefit oil companies and weapons manufacturers. Instead we watch the crooks on TV wring their hands over teachers' pay and municipal unions and medicare and medicaid. We pay for their health care. They don't seem to care much who pays for yours.

I remember when I was a kid and I would hear tales of adventurous tourists returning from the Soviet Union. They always talked about cheaply made goods. Clocks that didn't run. There was always mention of disgruntled workers with no real incentive to put out any effort. Everything was described as bleak and gray and grim. Communist party leaders took care of themselves and each other at the disadvantage of the citizenry. They had overextended themselves for years in their invasion of Afghanistan. There was terrible polarization between the party loyalists and the ones who had had their fill. Neither side liked nor trusted the other.

The government officially attempted to tamp down creativity and individuality. 

Now, here we are. Tear down that wall, Mr. Obama. Nobody is trying to redistribute anything. We just want a fair playing field including a safety net for the unfortunate among us. Nobody's talking Marx. I'm thinking Jesus.

Madder Max

Okay, did the Sunnis take the Shiites off the bus and mow them down or was it the other way around? 

The white ones don't like the brown ones and the brown ones don't like the black ones and 'round and 'round we go. I've never wanted to surround myself with folks who think just like I do. For one thing I would be pretty lonely.

That doesn't stop me from wringing my hands over the new hateful wave rolling over our culture. We're a nation that was stolen from natives. We still had movies coming out of Hollywood as late as the mid sixties about the God fearing cowboys beating back the ignoble red savages.

We still function in an economy that was built on the back of African slaves.

I was so proud at some point in my youth of the progress that we had made in race relations. I was raised in Alabama, you know. 

What happened? Where is our sense of love and charity?

I worry that the Democrats will be taking the Republicans off the bus to mow them down. No, maybe the Tea Party will be dragging the Green Party guys off.

Let's don't get distracted. Let's end war, feed the poor, doctor the sick. Let's be good. Let's love.

Too Much & Too Little

Saw the wonderful film, Vegucated, at the Roosevelt 2.0 last night thanks to WMNF, Duncan Strauss and the wonderful Marisa Miller Wolfson. It gave me hope for mankind in general but caused me to question my own strength.

It's somehow reassuring to be reminded that Einstein, Gandhi, Coretta Scott King, Rosa Parks and so many other heroes came to the same logical conclusion.

Ain't gonna study war no more.

Real Choices

                                                      A Sailor, A Nurse And A Hillbilly
                                                                      No More War

Nothing brings joy like real peace. Why do we have to rely on marginal celebrities like the late Rodney King to ask the important questions? Why aren't our politicians who represent the only two viable parties offering their plans for real and lasting peace? We all know that the next big war will be fought from keyboards not battleships. There is no legitimate reason that we should allow bullies like Paul Ryan to stand up and holler about medicare going broke when the true subject should be winding down the military industrial complex. Oil companies should be taxed, not subsidized.

You can vote for the one guy who will continue the war business for the sake of profit because you need his tax break or you can vote for the other guy who will do the same because he won't interfere with your reproductive rights. That's not a choice.

Where is my candidate? You know, the one who wants to improve our education system and make it available to everyone. The person who intends to get us out of the cellar in infant mortality ratings. Where is the candidate who tells us the sad truth about climate change and lays out a bold plan for alternatives to fossil fuel? These two parties have run their course. Their expiration dates are up.

Let's talk about peace and love. That's always gonna be fashionable. The empire has collapsed.

Having nothing to do with my little sermon, here's a short video that Rebekah Pulley made. She asked me to tell her a story and this is the first one that came to mind. I hope you enjoy it.

That's Not Smart

Don't be dumb. Don't cover Elvis. Don't mess with Edith Piaf or Hank Williams or Johnny Cash, either. I don't care who you are. Even Elvis couldn't sing Little Richard!

This is a version of Your Cheating Heart the was just too weird for the BAAMO folks to use on their compilation a few years back. I think there was probably just a little too much radio static at the beginning, don't you?

I'm gonna make a record with my pal, Rebekah. She sure is good.

New Start

Everything starts again today. Every thing starts   again. A clean slate. A patch on the heart. It's a re-tread but it has some miles left on it. The cosmic rain washed off a layer of hurt and heartache and all the critters can go out and play again. I'm pretty sure it's gonna be alright.

Sincerely, Your Friend

My pal, Benny Joy, only met Elvis twice. The first time was in an amusement park in New Orleans. The King raved about Benny's record, Sincerely, Your Friend. He told Benny that when he heard it on the radio that he sent his dad to the record store to buy it. He had worn that copy out and had bought another. He told Benny that he was going to record the song. Thrilling stuff.

Over the years Benny would think about the encounter and he loved to tell the story. Of course Elvis records would come and go without any sign of a Benny Joy song.

Benny Joy met Elvis one more time and Benny was very excited that Elvis remembered him. He promised that he was still going to record that song.

When Elvis died a mutual friend sent Benny a roster of the songs that Elvis was working on in the studio. Sincerely, Your Friend was on the list.

Benny was a good guy and a good friend. He seemed to have no sense of irony. I don't remember him ever being sarcastic. Oh, he had a temper. There were folks who had cheated him and he remembered every detail. There was a woman who had hurt him and he never got over it. Every hurt was right on the surface, though.

I don't much approve of sarcasm. Seems to me that it is just a cheap substitute for clever. I'm sarcastic. I hope I'm not mean. They usually go hand in hand, it seems to me.

I want to be genuine, honest, authentic. Real. I may not have much to offer but I don't want anyone to have to search too hard to find it.

In The Ether...Again

Well, I'm not crazy. You can quote me. Of course I can't boast too much for fear of bringing on that Richard Nixon-type scrutiny. At this point, though, I would welcome voices in my head just to have someone to talk to. I struggled to stay up 'til 8:30 last night and managed to dream someone else's dreams for nearly twelve hours. Now what?

I've got things to do and places to go. Somebody's singing about "heartbroke and lonesome all the time," on my radio. That's not funny.

There's funny and happy in the ether. It's important to know that it's there. It gets on me like dew settles on my sweater in London. I'm waiting for a downpour, though.

Here's a song of mine about New Orleans. I don't pretend to know the town well but I sure do love it. I'm ready to go back. It's been awhile.

Work and Happiness

How many times have you read about the man who finally retires and can finally fish and golf to his heart's content. In the stories he always kicks the bucket a month or two into the newfound paradise.

Well, I don't fish and I wouldn't wear those pants. It doesn't take much to convince me, however, that if I'm not working on something I'm right up next to the blues. Luckily, I'm the boss and I can keep myself busy. The flip side of that coin is that I'm lazy and I'm easily distracted. Show me apes dancing on TV and you've lost me until the music ends.

My job is to save the world. Well, to be truthful, that's everybody's job. I'm just lucky enough to recognize the fact. I do my tiny little part with rock'n'roll. That's who I am. That's what I do.

I'm working on a play and I'm working on a novel. I'm getting ready to start a new record with my pal, Rebekah Pulley, too. I've managed to figure this part out- I don't go to work; I am the work.

Go out and love with all your heart. Everything will take care of itself.

Loss Leaders

Maybe the big lesson to take away from loss is gratitude for what you have. Seems to me that there should be an easier method but, then again, I'm not in charge here.

My hopes are for everyone that I have had pass through my life. My dreams are for their happiness and their enlightenment and their fulfillment. I want peace and love for them all.

Infernal Light

Somewhere, somehow we're all a product of love. Whether you believe in a grand scheme or not it's the love and passion of two folks at a given moment that results in the ongoing population. Their folks shared love at some junction, too. 

It's almost overwhelming to think of the generations of love that have gotten us to this point. It would seem obvious that there is one overriding element that makes us go.

Songwriters croon about it. Philosophers fret about it. Preachers go on about it every Sunday. It fascinated Einstein.

You'd think we would get better at it. I'm gonna try.

Only Love Stops Hate

So I struggle like we all struggle. I'm hurt and it seems that hurting back would feel good. Now, I know better than that. We all know better than that. Sometimes it feels like I've been in training my whole life to make my heart bigger and purer.

Of course without testing it every now and again how would I ever have known. You don't forgive the ones who have done you wrong for their sake. You do it because it's what you do. The benefits all come to you.

The people in my life have served as wonderful examples for me. I've bumbled through and caused pain and hurt over and over. I've never meant to hurt anyone. Usually in hindsight I realize how I have let someone down or failed to be there for someone who needed me, usually for a trivial, selfish motive. I have probably taken for granted the love and forgiveness in response. Yeah, only love stops hate. I'm still in training.

One American Dream

So Marilyn's been gone for fifty years. She shares a stage with Jesus and Elvis. There's never gonna be another one.

Was she prettier than all those other girls who have flocked to Hollywood for decades. Well, no. She was certainly breathtakingly beautiful but the place is crawling with stunning women. Maureen Dowd quotes the great director, Mike Nichols, in the Times today as explaining it, "She had the greatest need."

A little girl's voice from a purely sexual being edged with pain from sexual abuse, insecurity and overwhelming ambition. She wanted celebrity attention and she found it with Jumpin' Joe. She wanted smart and she married Arthur Miller. Of course no man was ever going to fill that void, not even the president.

Marilyn was doomed to be alone. There wasn't enough love and adulation on the planet to take care of that need. Some of the biggest dreams are some of the saddest.

These Dreams

The phone woke me up this morning. Things were getting steamy between me and a beautiful girl. Some stranger had crawled into the bed with us, though, and I could see that his feet were not nearly clean enough. That's pretty much the extent of my social life just now.

I get to go play rock'n'roll with my friends tonight. On the Luck Scale I suppose I do pretty well. People are good to me. I guess I probably have the best friends in the world. I'm gonna go walk my dog. She's about the best dog there is.

If I'm not lucky I sure am a terrible braggart!

No Net

Most of my early career choices involved speed and danger. I know, of course, that all of the real burning is done in the heart and in the head. It's too late for me to die young and I'm afraid that I wouldn't have left a beautiful corpse at any point in this go-'round.

No, I never ended up racing any car at all. My mechanical aptitude kept most of my hot rods off of the highway most of the time. More proof that some god takes care of fools.

I was always interested in being a bad guy wrestler, too. I still want to catch a bullet in my teeth onstage at the Tampa Theater.

Most of the work that I do without a net consists chiefly of going up without a song list, without a plan. Pretty much without a clue. I find myself taking my pants off or telling a roomful of strangers that I've never met my father. I don't do anything terribly well but I'm authentic.

Benny Joy was a friend of mine, a good friend. These guys inspire me. I just try to hang on. Love just as hard as you can. That's my advice.

What About The Radio?

Growing up in Birmingham, I thought that if you turned on the radio Hank Williams automatically sang. That was a good thing. When we moved to Florida I didn't hear much radio for awhile. We didn't have a car and that has always been my favorite place to listen.

By 1955 my mom was bringing me home 45's by Big Joe Turner, Wynonie Harris, Roy Brown and Elvis. I began to search the airwaves to make sure that I wasn't missing anything. I was lucky. Besides being able to tune in WLAC from Nashville late at night we had WTMP here in Tampa. Not only did they spin all of the great rhythm and blues hits I got to hear Little Richard doing Royal Crown Hair Dressing commercials. I didn't know where to buy it but I knew I needed it.

By the time that rock'n'roll was in full bloom WALT was blasting the good stuff. On Sunday they featured Battle Of The Crooners. I would dial 'til my fingers hurt to make sure that Elvis never lost a single Sunday to Pat Boone. I didn't mind so much if Ricky Nelson or Eddie Cochran might slip by with a victory every once in awhile.

WLCY was the last big AM station to rule this area. Their sponsored Star Spectaculars at the Clearwater Auditorium gave me access to magnificent concerts up through the middle '60's.

We had our fair share of hip FM stations as rock'n'roll dominated our entire culture. Now, of course, for the last thirty three years we have had the wonderful fortune to have as perfect a radio station as a nerdy addict like me could ever dream of. WMNF.

But the old, silver pony-tailed supporters who have been the lifeblood of this marvelous gem are getting  to a stage of life that none of us ever thought we might reach. Who's gonna pay the bills now? Is there a gang of young enthusiasts out there who are dying to compete for weird hour spots and work their heads off for nothing but the satisfaction of making beautiful waves? Will satellite radio merely pressure the industry for change or is it a signal of the end days?

I can't do without radio.

Sue Me!

Well, I love them all. Even the ones I've never met. The Burns Sisters burn, burn, burn. They radiate all that is good about humanity, they sing like angels and they make me remember how superior women are to men.

In the early '70's I used to watch a beautiful teenager stroll down the streets of Ybor City on her way to my friend, Bill Mason's, Hitmakers Studio. This was the first thing that she ever recorded. It was a track that we had been working on. In fact, you can still hear the ghost of my original vocal as it bled onto other tracks. Unfortunately this is from a cassette copy of a cassette copy with no quality whatsoever. Doesn't really matter. Marie changed the lyrics and arranged all of her vocal parts and sang it to death. Great goodness.

Now, the track's not much. There is no guitar because, as I recall, there wasn't one in the studio that had all six strings the day that we put it down. I had just written the tune with my pal, Spencer Hinkle, about a girl who still captivates me with her sad eyes. The song would have probably dropped off of my own radar if Marie hadn't picked it up.

She still complains about not being paid for the session. Should I tell her that I've never been paid for one? Of course I don't sing like Marie Burns.

Do yourself a favor. Buy their new record, The Hills Of Ithaca. Her attorney can find me here!