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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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Lucky Jeremy: Call It What You Want...But This City Is Mine
Wednesday 17 December @ 13:30:33 |
 by Tom Hallett
You ever have one o’ them days/weeks/months/lives that just seems to drag like a rusty tailpipe under a car? You know, the kind where the clock ticks with molasses-like tocks and time slows to an almost glacial crawl? Sure you have. We all have.
QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “I believe ... it’s possible to connect with the creative source by thinking right and being right. That’s the secret to having a successful life. If you walk around negative-thinking, nothing but negative things will come up. I’m always looking for the ray of sunshine.”
—Lamont Dozier
SONG OF THE WEEK: “Faraway You”
—Marah
You wake up 20 minutes late, your car’s been towed by the parkin’ piggies, some guy on the bus mistakes you for somebody who insulted his mama twelve years ago in a bar, your boss DIDN’T save 15 percent or more by using Gecko insurance, yer up shit crick without a paddle, yer bucket’s got a rend in it, and to top it all off, you live in a city where the liquor stores close at a puritanical 8 p.m. on weekdays. So whattaya do? Ya run to the one sure thing you’ve got, the one friend who never turns its back on you, that bank of knobs an’ dials an’ friendly little colored lights—yer trusty stereo.
At least, that’s what I do when the whole shithouse looks like it’s about to go up in flames (Hey! It’s gettin’ close to election time—let’s “find” that Hussein guy, eh?) and I’m dreadin’ every phone call or knock upon my door. Shut down the welcomin’ light, Mabel, an’ pull the shades. We’re a-gonna huddle up next to the ray-jo an’ warm ourselves by the warm, constant green glow of the dial. Then comes your next obstacle—ya hasta pick whut ya wanna lissen to: Happy or sad? Loud or quiet? Up or down? Ramones or Smiths? Waylon or Hank? Ween or Whiskeytown? Here’s where ya gots to watch it, chilluns. Many a hearty music fan has fallen by the wayside of indecision whilst attempting to make those very choices, ending up squirreled away under a blanket on the sofa in front of old episodes of “Coach.” Word. Yessir, it’s mighty pertinent that ya stick something in that deck ASAP, ah tellyou whut.
Me, I just can’t come off a crappy day an’ throw “You Are My Sunshine” in the box. I mean, I’m happy (somewhere deep inside) that Jimmy Rodgers was happy, but perkiness tends to awaken in me a long-buried, primal instinct to thin the herd, as it were, and by that point, I don’t even have the energy to properly despise “Shiny Happy People” or The Carpenters’ “Top Of The World.” But man, if looks could pulverize ...
Anyway, I digress. What I’m gettin’ at here is that there really is something to be said about cryin’ in yer beer music. An’ it don’t have to be Hank or Patsy or Kitty Wells to make a feller sympathize, either. It don’t even necessarily have to be “mellow” or dark or melancholy or overly dramatic to sync up to a music fan’s own emotions in an appropriate manner.
I’ve got a few faves in that realm, albums or artists who seem to somehow have a natural ken for hittin’ all the bruised spots that require a little extra rock n’ roll TLC, dig? Anything by Nick Drake or The Cure soothes me almost to the point of narcoticizing my medulla, so I hold off on ‘em until I’m sure nothin’ else will do the trick. Bonnie “Prince” Billy/Palace Brothers/Palace Songs will do in a pinch, but hell, I love that shit when I am happy, so that’s a fifty-fifty call there. Honestly, hearing Johnny Rotten shriek “No futurrre.....” over and over works for me just as well as does “Yesterday I felt so old...” ya know? I guess that’s why it was so easy for Lucky Jeremy’s latest,
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