My favorite artists are always inconsistent. Maybe it just makes me feel better. Rock'n'roll wasn't designed to be played with a net. I've got hundreds of new songs started. I hope one or two of them are worth a hoot. I'm finally dying to get into the studio.
When the voices in my head whisper, "Yeah, right- just what the world needs: another Ronny Elliott record!," I clear my throat and respond haughtily, " Well, they didn't need those others, either!"
I remember a joke from Dig Magazine:
Little Julie came home from school beaming and rushed to show her mother the shiny dime. When her mother asked where she had gotten it, Julie explained that the boys on the playground had given it to her so that she would hang by her knees from the monkey bars.
"Honey, they just want to see your panties," her mother explained.
"I know! I tricked 'em. I didn't wear any."
I've based what might be loosely called a career on little Julie's philosophy.
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