Hop High Ladies
Someone gave me this record in high school. The Holy Modal Rounders. It was like the title of a mystery that might be difficult to solve. Two guys sounding like insane hicks on acid, being squeezed through the horn of an old victrola. Guitar, banjo, fiddle. I was too young to know if they were really good or not, and, really, too young to care. I just knew that, when they slowed things down, they were playing a couple of the strings of my heart and, when they really got going, they were encouraging me to take a sip and throw away my shoes and start waving my hands around.
Same Old Man
They were introducing me to a kind of music we didn’t have in Minnesota and were pointing the way down a path that led to all kinds of tunes and sounds and people who were on one of the many fringes of the world, though it didn’t seem like they knew it or cared if they were or not. They were just having a good time. And here I was, being taken for a ride into the dust, the black and white, to dark corners and bright fields, with barely a fence in sight.
These guys didn’t quit. They’re still playing. I love that no one, musicians or artists, nowadays ever stops and stuff just keeps coming out of them. Why stop, when you’re having fun?
Midnight In Paris