I go visit a friends blog and I reminded of some music that I have put away so many years ago. Damn crying shame that I did that.
Ohhhhh shoot wait a second here and let me re-introduce myself to this neglected blog. Ya see I am still around. I have just spread myself a little thinner across the blogosphere. Heh! That is the only way I will look skinny again.
I am still “The Moderator” and part time contributor to lonestartimes.com and I have opened a for profit blog, squawkboxnoise.com. It seems a little dusty here but there is a comfortable feeling, a familiarity that I have not felt in some time.
Anyway is there anyone there that remembers the days of the story tellers? I mean I grew up listening to the bands of the Woodstock era. Shook my fist with Jefferson Airplane’s Volunteers, danced all night with Janis Joplin and woke up hungover too many time with Jimi Hendrix. But through all that madness what I still enjoy to this day are the story tellers.
We have story tellers today, but damn when I listen to those guys I feel like I just crawled up off the floor of a New York City cab. Ummm having literally done that on more than one occasion, it ain’t a pretty sight. No I am talking about the Arlo Guthrie type story tellers. Singers that painted scene in words accompanied with instrumentals that did not insult my ears. Harry Chapins that told stories that while at times sad left you with a feeling of hope.
I remember the first time I heard Harry’s 30,000 Pounds of Bananas. I was on the down hill side of a long climb leading into a town much like Scranton Pennsylvania. I literally had to ease my car over to the shoulder and finish listen to that song. (I was home on leave form the military at the time) Talk about your reality checks. sigh. I guess you would have had to been there.
In them days it was the story tellers that eased my mind. Todays story tellers give me a damn headache. Who cares if life is hard for a pimp?
These guys always seemed to let you know there is a better place to be.
1 Comment
July 16, 2007 at 7:53 pm
Hey Squawky,
You’re right, there are no real story tellers in music anymore. And who does care if a pimp gets a headache? The song was great, thanks for leaving it for me.
WC