Saturday, June 21, 2008


I heard someone say that rock n' roll never forgets, so I guess rock n' roll is more like an elephant than we want to admit. If that's the case, maybe we should kill it for its teeth and its heart, cuz those are the only things about it that ever appealed to me.

I met Tommy Ramone tonight. My life nears completion.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Fuck Anti-Flag, I'm Listening to Bluegrass.

A punk rock song I wrote about how much I enjoy classic bluegrass. A rough draft.

Sometimes we need to look elsewhere for guidance
Sometimes we need to turn to what came before
Voices lost to memory and vinyl grooves
Remind us what we were living for

Clawhammer banjo, two majors and a seventh
I don't wanna wander far from my roots
Whether you like Joe Strummer or the Louvin Brothers
It's still three chords and the motherfucking truth

I wanna be high, I don't wanna be lonesome no  more

Do you remember when Jimmy Martin was king?
Do you remember when Bill Monroe would sing,
"I saw the light, praise the Lord"
I wanna be high, I don't wanna be lonesome

I wanna be high, I don't wanna be lonesome no more

So rock me, momma, like a wagon wheel
Rock me, momma, any way you feel
I wanna be high, I don't wanna be lonesome no more

It's Sunday afternoon, we got a little bit of gas
Your hands are on the wheel, my feet are on the dash
Kirk Rundstrom's on the radio, praise the Lord
I wanna be high, I don't wanna be lonesome no more

Appropriately enough, I managed to score a ticket to see Uncle Monk, Tommy Ramone's new bluegrass/folk group, this coming Saturday. Getting a chance to meet the only surviving original Ramone might be a bit too much for this boy. Where would I be without 'em?

I was probably 16, listening to bad metal and thinking the Beatles were the end-all be-all of rock n' roll, when Tucker burned me a "punk mix" cd. The first track was "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue", and it blew my mind. I never looked back, and I don't think I've listened to the Beatles since. Take that, Paul McCartney.

Tommy Ramone and Tom Waits in the same week. After next Thursday, I could probably die happy.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

It was cool and still.

I was unbuttoning my shirt before I even got in the front door.

I staggered into the graveyard with the sole intention of being found out, called out as a trespasser. Bellyful of Mickey's, headful of vice, earful of Skynyrd.

I fell asleep under a handsome tree for about forty-five minutes, and when I woke I had a difficult time deciding whether to spend the rest of my nocturne in the cemetery, or to trudge on to my best girl's warm arms. Life is all the more beautiful when faced with decisions like these.

Tom Waits has caused me to rediscover traits and habits I had long forgotten, like the patience to stare down drainpipes and listen to birdsongs at 5:52 am while ankle-deep in cold water.