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suddenly, i understand the devotion of
deadheads.
seeing
jonathan
richman for the first time, at
tractor tavern, i stood
mesmerized, smiling, wishing i had the tape recorder being belatedly sent
from minneapolis where it fell out of my bag.
i recorded some clips with my trial camera, and listening
to them today is a little painful. it's like being really drunk
and having your friends tell you all the stupid things you did, but in a
good way. i mean, it's better than i remember it.
drummer tommy larkin was fascinating to watch at his simple kit, fixed sidelong
glance watching for cues. both dudes
are real musicians, tight. i could see why he had mariachi guys open--i imagine
them chuckling, trading latin flavor licks.
tommy kept the beat pure and clean while jonathan sang about picasso, dali,
paris, goth gals, dancing lesbians, NYC,
breaking up, letting go, and the need to love being stronger than the need
to be loved. but the part which got me
dizziest was when he improv'd a rant about hating planes and cars, preferring
the train, and how of course trains
don't support themselves, but neither do the airlines, recipients of tax
dollar bailouts even before
9/11. yeah! and this
segued into a song about the plaza, a place for people to gather, free of
TV and other isolating distractions. yeah! so,
look, if you were there and you got a tape of the show, please oh please
won't you contact me? i want to hear it again. |
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