R.I.P. Rock'n'Roll

When was rock'n'roll born? Who knows? Who cares! At some point it's like holding mirrors in front of mirrors, isn't it? You think you've stumbled across an original, the Killer, for example. Then someone turns you on to Harry "The Hipster" Gibson. You argue with another drunk at the bar about Chuck Berry's invention of sacred rock'n'roll guitar introductions and he drags you out to the car to play you some Carl Hogan licks off of Louis Jordan's records. There may be a beginning back there somewhere but I can't find it.

I'm afraid that I have lived to see the end, however. It's not that sad, not for the kids. They will have something great and good to live for. Something that's theirs. I never was big on nostalgia. Of course the spirit of all of that godliness will be with us forever. I've lived a life for this stuff. As I came of age, I thought it would save the world and maybe it did. Hail, hail rock'n'roll, indeed!

The Nationals

The Nationals are badasses, every one. We don't play much any more, not since we lost Jim. We did get together last week to celebrate the life and the genius of Harry Hayward. David Lane sat in with me and Natty and Steve and Walt. We were joined by our pal, Crash Mitchell, who helped shout it all out. This is Room 100, my ode to the great love story of Sid and Nancy. I love these folks and I love all of you.

It Turned Over Once

"This is not my century, boys. Neither was the last." Seems pompous to quote myself. Can't get past the thought, though. "I've got a lot of miles on this old heart of mine already." Yeah, that's me again.

Remember when a hundred thousand miles meant the end of a car? Today more companies than just Volvo brag about their models going over a million miles and the proud owners pose for the ads that the manufacturers and agencies use for the magazines.

I've been accused of an unhealthy addiction to heartache and drama. Of course I jump to my feet to defend myself but the evidence is stacking up against me. I was told once by a promoter in Europe that folks over there worry about me.

"Why," I asked.

"They all think you have drug problems," he replied.

If anybody over here ever furrows a brow on my behalf it probably has more to do with alcohol. I don't really overdo the juice but it seems to show in a tacky, dramatic fashion onstage when there are too many refreshments available backstage.

These new charges scare me a lot more. What if there's something to them? In my mind and in my heart I have finished with romance. I should probably say that romance has finished with me. Believe me, it's difficult for a Romantic with a capital "R" to make such a statement. After this amount of time, however, to have batted zero is at the core of my sadness. All of my heart and all of my good intentions have come up short. I feel that I have tried but not everyone would agree with that. Suppose that I did have some kind of sad agenda.

I'm well over the 100k mark. I shoulda' taken better care of my heart. This one's worn out and I really wouldn't lie and try to pass it off on some unsuspecting sucker.

Grandma & Elvis

I know that I've told you the stories of my adventures traveling up to Crystal River as often as I could get someone to drive me in order to spend time with Elvis Presley while he was filming Follow That Dream. On the first couple of trips we would arrive before sunup and have him pretty much to ourselves. He was too sweet and too polite to walk away. He would stay and talk until he was late for the filming.

On the third or fourth trip I convinced my grandmother, Lottie, to come along. She had always loved Elvis. Let's face it, she was southern. She did truly believe that we were all a bit overboard to make a trip for a couple of hours every day just to see him and she told us all the way up there.

As soon as we stepped out of the car, however, the King stepped from the doorway of his cottage at Port Paradise, the resort where he was staying. Grandma left us in the dust and made a beeline for Elvis. She grabbed him in a bear hug and burst into uncontrollable sobs. While she cried her eyes out, Elvis laughed his head off. I don't think either of them had ever enjoyed a moment in life more.

                                                               Lottie, Elvis & Mom

He spent lots of time exchanging stories and posing for pictures. The next trip up she took him a coconut cake that she baked for him. A fresh coconut cake. We had always read that that was his favorite dessert. I read in an interview in a movie magazine months later that a little lady from St. Petersburg had taken him a coconut cake. Close enough.

Grandma made several more of the pilgrimages up with us. One afternoon we sat around outside of the Colonel's bungalow. My grandmother told Elvis about all of the fights that I had been in during grade school standing up for him.

He smiled one of those really exaggerated crooked ones and mumbled,"I'll teach him something to take care of that."

"Karate?" I asked, hoping to sound worldly or at least somewhat sophisticated for a thirteen year old.

"Yeah."

I've got lots of stories about Grandma and lots of stories about the King. My favorites are the ones with both of them. I'm a very lucky man.

My Buddies

It's funny how often I miss Sparkle. He was my first dog,  a dachshund-pekinese mix. You know, the proverbial "so ugly he's cute" type. Sparkle was naughty and he was smart. Once he escaped he was gone for awhile. Once Uncle Reid had to go down and retrieve him from the pound a day after he took off. I don't have any photos of Sparkle but I surely remember exactly what he looked like. It's been over fifty eight years now. When we moved from Alabama I gave Sparkle to Margaret, Aunt Noot's maid in Jemison. He was run over by a bicycle soon after. The story went that Margaret held him in her lap all night until he finally breathed his last breath. I still grieve for him.

Plenty of others have followed, all special and all holy. Wolfgang was probably the most colorful. It's hard to ever get rid of the image of the boy dragging home half of a turkey from down the street on a Thanksgiving day. I'm pretty sure I know what happened to the other half, too.

I kinda' hate to attempt to name all of them because I sure wouldn't want to leave any of them out. Puddles, Goldie, Poochie, Boo, Jamaica, and Kokomo all come to mind immediately. Neighbors' dogs and girlfriends' dogs and strays that I've befriended rise up in my heart, as well.

Now Jamaica's my girl and Jamaica's my life. She sure is a good girl, even if she would leave me in a wink for Ralph, the neighbor behind us. Reminds me of most of my relationships.

Ronny & Jamaica, the pup

I'll get to the cats another time. I've gotta go walk the dog now. As my pal, Steve V., put it, " The dog just thinks she'll have to put up with all the attention until you get well."

My Blood Is Too Red

A few years back the doctor told me that I probably had a weird, rare blood disease. When I reminded him that I had no insurance we decided together that I had best skip any test that would confirm his diagnosis. Romance was failing badly and my dog needed a knee replacement. She didn't have insurance, either. I was broke and I was beat. Friends propped me up but I was lonely in crowds.

Light came and all prayers were answered. I didn't have any disease, just really red blood. Jamaica got her new knee. How do I manage to look down the road to the blues? Where do these visions come from? When does happiness show up?

http://soundcloud.com/ronnyelliott/my-blood-is-too-red

I Miss Gary Dobbins

In 1967 I attempted to start a rhythm and blues band, horns, keyboards, backup singers, the whole deal. Nobody ever showed up for practice. I finally took the three drummers, had one teach another one to play guitar, I played bass and we started a hillbilly band instead, Your Local Bear. Talk about your mothers and your inventions! I loved that band. Nobody else did. We played on a bill with Jimi Hendrix and I thought we should change the world.

That band eventually morphed into Duckbutter. I was sure that this one was gonna change the world. Save it, too. Oh well.