Who knows where the spirit comes from? Who cares? Colors are brighter, music is sweeter, everybody seems holy somehow. Everybody sails alone. Everybody.
You don't have to look closer, harder; you just have to make sure your eyes are open. You don't have to take music appreciation classes or follow the museum guide. Just listen to those old Coasters records again. Go stare at anything Dali painted. Give the umbrella away like Gene Kelly did.
Your dog knows everything there is to know about love. Pay attention.
You've never heard many "second takes" from me. My first record producer, Phil Gernhard, was a tyrant in the studio, a cheapskate. If you played a clam you were going to be berated in front of everyone.
The payoff for me is that all of my work habits from those days shaped my recording habits that are still in play. My therapist might add that my limited attention span is in the mix as well.
I'm not looking for perfection in making records. It's a good thing, huh? I want to make you laugh so hard that milk runs out your nose or cry your eyes out. My pal, Rev. Billy C. Wirtz, has an uncanny ability to manage both. In a single song sometimes.
If I'm gonna break your heart I'm gonna do it with my broken heart. It would be real nice to make pretty music. It's pretty nice to make real music. Let's don't do this twice.
Seems I remember where the joy hides. If I could only keep it in mind. Other folks forget where they left the car keys. Maybe I need to get out to rock'n'roll a little more frequently.
Tomorrow night's the big event. The Rev. Billy C. Wirtz and I are performing together at the Palladium in St. Pete in what we have declared a Hillbilly Death Match, Loser Leaves Town. There are several problems that we seem to have made for ourselves. First, I'm starting to worry that folks are coming thinking that we're really going to fight.
He's younger. Bigger. I don't fight.
It all seemed like a fun idea to start. You know- I play, he plays, we play together. Then I start to detect a twinkle in the eye of people asking me about where I might move.
In a panicky attempt to defuse this thing I have pointed out that we're both losers. Neither of us live in St. Pete to begin with. Of course we're leaving town.
Now this is the country where Donald Trump seems presidential to a good number of people out there. When he tweets about that woman at Fox at 2:00 in the morning it's headline news. Roger Ailes has actually shifted his role to the good guy just like in real rasslin'. We're the nation of sheep who pay big bucks for cheap seats at Daytona hoping for somebody to turn right like Dale did!
Again I find myself torn between a desire to communicate and an overwhelming feeling that I'm talking too loud, showing off. This thing is here just because a screen came up as I was reading some blog asking if I wanted one, too.
Sure.
Then I had to fill in the blanks and it needed a name. Well, it's my blog, I reasoned. Now, I see "Ronny Elliott's Blog" and I think to myself, " That's just dumb. You should be embarrassed."
I am.
The whole showbiz career thing trips me up in the same way. Oh, I love to sing. I love to play music. Always have.
Of course I always loved playing cowboys, too. If I put on a pair of chaps and gallop on a stick pony down the street, they're gonna lock me up. Unless I'm Ramblin' Jack, that is.
My point, if I have a point, is that I have nothing to say. It's just too hard to walk up to everyone on the street and tell them that I love them. If I could get up the nerve to do that most of them would run off or have me arrested before I could remind them to do the same. Once the rambling and ranting about war and peace started even the patient ones would be gone.
At least this allows me to simply leave my message on the front seat of an unlocked car on the boulevard. If someone looks in, fine.
Sell 'em broken 7 Up bottles. Tell them that they're the rarest emeralds from the last region of the Amazon basin where cannibals are still the party in power. Make them think that they need 96" televisions to watch NFL games on Sunday after church. Then pull the rug out and convince them that they must have flat screen TV's. Hanging on the wall. Next year we'll get them to brag that they can watch men the size of Hummers crash into each other on tiny little "personal devices."
Wait- the same ones we sold the 96 inchers to? Yeah! They're gonna need curved screens if they're to buy anything else to hang on the wall.
Speaking of Hummers, after we market gigantic, fuel-guzzling, butt-ugly, military vehicles to these fine folks, let's sell them all a Prius. Uh oh. They seem to last forever and they don't go out of style. They don't use nearly enough gas, either. Well, that's alright. Gas will be under two bucks a gallon by the end of summer. What did we do with all those Hummers?
How about that stock market? Is it just me or is it weird that every major correction surprises everybody? Including that obnoxious bald guy who yells on the news broadcasts as an expert. Hey! Isn't he the same shameless jerk who told us to buy this crap?
While we're on the subject of the market, what about the Koch brothers and those other crooks? Do you mean to tell me that we're going to turn over the entire government to those evil, self-centered villains just because they have amassed a lot of green paper? No, that's ridiculous. They also have stock certificates. Real stuff!
Wait! What about the correction?
Oh, the job creators will use the opportunity to trade some of their surplus green paper to pick up more stock certificates at bargain rates. When their lackeys manipulate the market to their liking they will purchase some more government. Well, if they don't own it all by then.
Where's Woody? Will Rogers, Johnny Cash, George Carlin? What have they done with John Lennon? Don't quit now, Jon. We need you.
There aren't many things that money can't buy, it seems. We always thought that water was on that short list. Now those same low down scoundrels who managed to have governments fight wars for "their" oil are investing in water.
You still can't buy love. There's an endless source, too. You can't buy authenticity, either, but it seems to be in short supply.
My reverence for life goes well beyond those with two legs. We're all a little bit disappointed when our culture reminds us that so many forms of hate and bigotry are still with us. The political season brings a reminder that ignorance runs rampant.
The day will come when we all look back with heartbreak and remorse at the treatment of our friends with no voice of their own. It's obvious to me now that I won't live to see that day. I still celebrate the inevitability.
To be naive is to live with hope. War will end, love will flourish. It's two steps forward and one and 3/16ths back. All the hidden clues are in the Fats Domino records. Love just as hard as you can. Everything.
Who knows where the spirit comes from? Who cares? Colors are brighter, music is sweeter, everybody seems holy somehow. Everybody sails alone. Everybody.
