If the clouds are looming too close overhead or the drops of rain are leaving you soaking wet, you can turn your skittish shuffle into a confident strut and slow gait, spread your arms wide, look directly to the sky and stick your tongue out and feel the drops collide with your lips and the good lord in sweet heaven will surely be impressed as the shine in your eyes reflects the magic of the stars in which God sits. I got you babe, I got it licked!
I would like to be bopping down the street dodging the cracks that break your mother’s back, past the graffiti, past the Coca Cola trash. The rattle of the crawling traffic so ever present that it is in my mind so forever distant. Briefly blinded by the light turning right off of the downtown buildings, I keep on moving, the glare keeps burning, and I enter the building. Rick Rubin at the controls of this epic remixing, behind black glasses my soul he is fixing, while my feet be spinning to what should be the soundtrack to my night beginning ….on’n’on.
This makes me feel free like water splashed on my tongue from the hose, feeling loose like the splash of the Sunday sun warming my nose and I’m carefree and not really sure about the words and don’t really care what he be singing bout, just the lazy beat and the smile it puts on my mouth. My neck rolls and nothing matters but the squeal of the guitar and I am wishing you were standing beside me inside a sweaty South By bar, walking kicking gravel dirt not worrying about work, worry bout nothing but the sweat in your eyes and then the solo hits and we find out that even that worry was a lie…I got you babe!
And the clouds cleared and the sun looked down lazily heating the day casually and we find ourselves on a Saturday strumming melodies, bah da buh, bah da buh, bah da buh, in the quest to pull my old heart out of the coffee caffeine heating winter and the spring of my mind and my eyes for summertime, I glaze past the lyrical longing for an old heart and peel the blood red layers of pumping valves and Valentine art, and hum along to the bah da buh’s and bah da buh’s past the winter time war.
Uh yes! Make me move I want to move, skip skip it’s the beats that bounce the bricks and the perfect tongue holding the perfect wit. I can feel the city breathe, absorbing the anxious reality, I mean the big big city and well, the other side of me, the un-New York City, the un-city street, the un-back alley side of me feels the primal scream in me, the alone desert dancing care free side of me, the loin cloth me, the wondering caravan in me feels nothing, but movement and ecstasy and when i shut my big mouth i hope you are dancing next to me
Haunting keys, like the kind you find as the leaves curl in the wind around the lamp post of a cobble stone street of a January day, in the corner of your mind from the movie you can’t seem to place, all of the color of the movie and the color of the day seems to be washed away, standing frozen without a thought or a care, you slowly come to and slowly become aware, that the bellowing soprano never arrived and the words were never whispered alive, the thoughts never came and the smile came across your face, as you put the song in its place, heard the last note fade, and turned and walked away, and you, so proud of yourself, laughed and asked yourself,’where is my mind?’
If you have every felt like a king snake slithering through the stale green moss stuck to the top of the swamp and the swarming insects swarming to the blood pumping from your heart and the dripping wet sticky heat wraps her merciless hands around your throat and blows a deep hot breath to the back of your choking neck bones and the grip which holds you in front of your maker divine is the grip of forbidden fruit Rotten on the Vine!
All this Phantogram talk has me in the bouncing kind mood and who better to strut around the house with than the king of strut and the Stones? This song pops for a number or reasons.
1. Ronnie Wood’s bass line
2. Mick’s kicked in the nuts singing
3. It’s presence in my 3am play list
4. Charlie laying it down like he doesn’t give fuck
5. It’s presence in my Saturday day drinking play list
6. Hoo Hoo Hooooo Ho Hoo Hoo Hooooo Ho
One of the best things I ever heard, “It’s very funny to be a frog.” On a Friday evening on the Four Seasons lawn breathing in the breeze, talking about rsvp’s, the lines, the two weeks in March, the interactive, the bicycles, the secret shows, the Four Seasons, Mohawk, Emos, the lines, is there a ticket, no ticket, no ticket, no ticket, there’s a ticket, to Buenos Aires sparkling bubbles, and olives and cheese, back through the night and over the river, listening to the mix tape of a mix tape while talking about a New York mix tape and we stumble upon the gripping beat and DON’T MOVE! I love the beat that drops at the 2 minute mark. I found myself rewinding and fast forwarding to that mark for a 20 minute run last night. Beautiful. Thanks Sarah!