THE FUCKING SUN IS BURNING OUT?
The Rubber Meets The Road, Part I will be up soon enough. In the meantime we interupt this broadcast for a commercial message...
"Be Here To Love Me", the docu-DVD of the life of Townes Van Zant from Director Margaret Brown is A+++ with a bullet. Two thumbs up. Toes too. Not because I dig Townes but because Brown and company did such an incredible job.
Townes was a singer-songwriter. A singer-songwriter's singer-songwriter actually. One of my favorites. One of the best ever. Let me put it into perspective... Bob Dylan sat literally MESMERIZED by him.
He came from the same mould of a long list of Texas singer-songwriters like Joe Ely, Lyle Lovette, Guy Clark, Nanci Griffith, Jimmy Dale Gilmore, Kris Kristofferson, Delbert McClinton, et al. But ask any of them... Townes was the best. They all dream to touch perfection like Townes could. And Townes? He just blew it off. The songs he said, came through him. He just wrote em down.
He was a cult hero and like any cult hero there are a gazillion stories. But it really only takes four short anedotes to cut it to the bone...
"I don't envision a very long life for myself, ya know.
Like I think my life will run out before my work does, ya know.
I've designed it that way"
One day in the third grade the teacher annouced it was time to talk about science. She talked about the universe, the sun, the solar system. And she said, "The sun is a star and, like any star, it is burning out. And she went on and on but Townes had heard nothing beyond "the sun is burning out!" Finally he interupted her and said...
"The sun is burning out? I have to polish my shoes, clean my plate, sit up straight, do my homework, be on time, and THE FUKING SUN IS BURNING OUT?
That formed his life. From that day forward Townes lived his life as if the sun was burning out tomorrow.
Then one night at a party in college he fell from a balcony just to find out what it would feel like. Years later he explained...
"I decided I was going to lean over and just see what it felt like, all the way up to, approaching when you lost control and you were falling. And I realized that to do it, you know, I would have to fall. Like I just started leaning back really slow, and really paying attention, and fell you know, and I landed 4 stories down just flat on my back. I can remember the impact, exactly what it felt like. Good lord!"
That defined his life.
Right after he got married for the first time he locked himself in the closet that served as his music room. When he came out it was with his first song. His new bride expected a romantic ballad. Instead it was "Waitin 'Round To Die".
Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me
sometimes I can't even see the reason why
I guess I keep a-gamblin, 'lots of booze and lots of ramblin'
it's easier than just waitin' around to die
On New Years Day, 1997, the sun burned out and Townes hit the ground. He was dead from heart failure.
His writings covered the whole range of emotions. I've turned lotsa people on to Townes and they'll ask, well, what kind of music? I tell em, therapeutic! Maybe it was because he could touch any number of different people yet each one would have their own subjective experience like it was just them and Townes sharing some deep dark secret. How someone could write about hopelessness and misery in a way that, when you heard it, it would cheer you up at the same time is beyond me. Maybe it was because you just somehow knew you weren't alone anymore. Townes was walkin beside you.
You know, every once in awhile over the course of a lifetme something magic happens. I'm not talkin about slight of hand stuff or allusion. I'm talkin about the real deal, real magic. And when it happens, you cherish it. To me, Townes was magic. I never knew him... but then, I did in a woo-woo sorta way. I did get to see him once. It was here in town at Blind Willie's about a month or two before his death. It would have been memorable anyway just "for the sake of the song" but it turned out to be particularly poignant. I couldn't get there until the show had started for some forgotten reason and he was on break when I took a seat at the bar. I'll never forget him stumbling out from the back. I mean literally stumbling and running into things walking the crookedest way on a straight path to the stage. Stumbling not like he was drunk or high but more like he was wandering disoriented in space searching for a home. Suddenly our eyes met and locked and he stopped dead in his tracks. A big huge grin came over his face as he passed by me as if we had re-discovered some long lost, yet enegmatic, connection. I haven't a clue what it all meant to him but to me it was magic.
Later, after the show, I went back backstage which was really just an old room stuck on the side of the building. I had not wanted to invade his space but I felt drawn back there. The door was open and somebody from the club said it was okay. Even walking in from the darkness of the club it took some time to adjust and focus in the even darker room that turned out to be totally empty except for a dirty ole 30's-ish period, overstuffed couch. The room was long and narrow, shotgun like and so narrow the couch had to be slung back hard against the long wall that seemed 10 times longer than the couch and was pushed all the way back into the darkness so the far arm of it was hard up against the far wall.
And there, in the darkness, sat Townes. He had stuffed himself into the back corner of that couch and was all huddled up as if he were trying to disappear or he'd crawled completly inside himself. I was totally taken aback by the sceene and a bit shy in his presence anyway dispite the earlier eye contact.
Here, in the midst of this, was the guy through which had come all those incredible songs. And then, with the memory of the haunting emotional tone of those songs echoing through me, suddenly it all fit. I remember him coming out of his shell just long enough to gesture for me to come ahead. I walked down into the darkness and sat down on the couch leaving what I hoped was a respectable distance from him. I sat there for what seemed like a very long time just staring ahead at the blank wall 3 feet away and not saying a word. I didn't look at him and he didn't look at me. We both just sat there staring at the wall. Then slowly, I pulled off my shirt, handed it to him along with a pen, and he signed it. He looked at me as he handed it back and I pulled it back on. We looked at each other for a moment as we each broke into a slow smile. As I got up I gave him a slow wink, a nod, and a thumbs up. Then I turned and walked away. A month later he was dead. I'll never forget it.
Sometimes words are necessary, like for the sake of the song. And sometimes they're superfulous.
"Be Here To Love Me", the docu-DVD of the life of Townes Van Zant from Director Margaret Brown is A+++ with a bullet. Two thumbs up. Toes too. Not because I dig Townes but because Brown and company did such an incredible job.
Townes was a singer-songwriter. A singer-songwriter's singer-songwriter actually. One of my favorites. One of the best ever. Let me put it into perspective... Bob Dylan sat literally MESMERIZED by him.
He came from the same mould of a long list of Texas singer-songwriters like Joe Ely, Lyle Lovette, Guy Clark, Nanci Griffith, Jimmy Dale Gilmore, Kris Kristofferson, Delbert McClinton, et al. But ask any of them... Townes was the best. They all dream to touch perfection like Townes could. And Townes? He just blew it off. The songs he said, came through him. He just wrote em down.
He was a cult hero and like any cult hero there are a gazillion stories. But it really only takes four short anedotes to cut it to the bone...
"I don't envision a very long life for myself, ya know.
Like I think my life will run out before my work does, ya know.
I've designed it that way"
One day in the third grade the teacher annouced it was time to talk about science. She talked about the universe, the sun, the solar system. And she said, "The sun is a star and, like any star, it is burning out. And she went on and on but Townes had heard nothing beyond "the sun is burning out!" Finally he interupted her and said...
"The sun is burning out? I have to polish my shoes, clean my plate, sit up straight, do my homework, be on time, and THE FUKING SUN IS BURNING OUT?
That formed his life. From that day forward Townes lived his life as if the sun was burning out tomorrow.
Then one night at a party in college he fell from a balcony just to find out what it would feel like. Years later he explained...
"I decided I was going to lean over and just see what it felt like, all the way up to, approaching when you lost control and you were falling. And I realized that to do it, you know, I would have to fall. Like I just started leaning back really slow, and really paying attention, and fell you know, and I landed 4 stories down just flat on my back. I can remember the impact, exactly what it felt like. Good lord!"
That defined his life.
Right after he got married for the first time he locked himself in the closet that served as his music room. When he came out it was with his first song. His new bride expected a romantic ballad. Instead it was "Waitin 'Round To Die".
Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me
sometimes I can't even see the reason why
I guess I keep a-gamblin, 'lots of booze and lots of ramblin'
it's easier than just waitin' around to die
On New Years Day, 1997, the sun burned out and Townes hit the ground. He was dead from heart failure.
His writings covered the whole range of emotions. I've turned lotsa people on to Townes and they'll ask, well, what kind of music? I tell em, therapeutic! Maybe it was because he could touch any number of different people yet each one would have their own subjective experience like it was just them and Townes sharing some deep dark secret. How someone could write about hopelessness and misery in a way that, when you heard it, it would cheer you up at the same time is beyond me. Maybe it was because you just somehow knew you weren't alone anymore. Townes was walkin beside you.
You know, every once in awhile over the course of a lifetme something magic happens. I'm not talkin about slight of hand stuff or allusion. I'm talkin about the real deal, real magic. And when it happens, you cherish it. To me, Townes was magic. I never knew him... but then, I did in a woo-woo sorta way. I did get to see him once. It was here in town at Blind Willie's about a month or two before his death. It would have been memorable anyway just "for the sake of the song" but it turned out to be particularly poignant. I couldn't get there until the show had started for some forgotten reason and he was on break when I took a seat at the bar. I'll never forget him stumbling out from the back. I mean literally stumbling and running into things walking the crookedest way on a straight path to the stage. Stumbling not like he was drunk or high but more like he was wandering disoriented in space searching for a home. Suddenly our eyes met and locked and he stopped dead in his tracks. A big huge grin came over his face as he passed by me as if we had re-discovered some long lost, yet enegmatic, connection. I haven't a clue what it all meant to him but to me it was magic.
Later, after the show, I went back backstage which was really just an old room stuck on the side of the building. I had not wanted to invade his space but I felt drawn back there. The door was open and somebody from the club said it was okay. Even walking in from the darkness of the club it took some time to adjust and focus in the even darker room that turned out to be totally empty except for a dirty ole 30's-ish period, overstuffed couch. The room was long and narrow, shotgun like and so narrow the couch had to be slung back hard against the long wall that seemed 10 times longer than the couch and was pushed all the way back into the darkness so the far arm of it was hard up against the far wall.
And there, in the darkness, sat Townes. He had stuffed himself into the back corner of that couch and was all huddled up as if he were trying to disappear or he'd crawled completly inside himself. I was totally taken aback by the sceene and a bit shy in his presence anyway dispite the earlier eye contact.
Here, in the midst of this, was the guy through which had come all those incredible songs. And then, with the memory of the haunting emotional tone of those songs echoing through me, suddenly it all fit. I remember him coming out of his shell just long enough to gesture for me to come ahead. I walked down into the darkness and sat down on the couch leaving what I hoped was a respectable distance from him. I sat there for what seemed like a very long time just staring ahead at the blank wall 3 feet away and not saying a word. I didn't look at him and he didn't look at me. We both just sat there staring at the wall. Then slowly, I pulled off my shirt, handed it to him along with a pen, and he signed it. He looked at me as he handed it back and I pulled it back on. We looked at each other for a moment as we each broke into a slow smile. As I got up I gave him a slow wink, a nod, and a thumbs up. Then I turned and walked away. A month later he was dead. I'll never forget it.
Sometimes words are necessary, like for the sake of the song. And sometimes they're superfulous.
posted by Palooka's Revenge at 8/27/2006 07:37:00 PM
2 Comments:
and what you didn't tell them is the reverence that other artists have demonstrated when they sign that same shirt... they are honored to have their signatures on the same cloth... magic indeed.
That was awesome. I am definitely going to listen and learn more about his music.
I had a similar magic moment once at a small Leon Russell performance. It was not long after my husband had died, and I went alone. I sat close to the stage. He looked into my eyes when he sang, "I'm singing this song for you." I wont forget it, either, even if it was just good stage presence.
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