Heavy Years: 2000-2010 (Ernest Jenning) is the latest release from Brooklyn-by-way-of-Chicago singer/songwriter Chris Mills. The 14-track retrospective compiles songs from his last four albums, along with two new tracks recorded with DJ Oktopus (Dalek). Mills is currently on the road supporting Heavy Years, and he will also be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new Q&A with him.
Mills: I have no illusions about the quality of my driving. But let’s be clear: I know how to drive a car. I have a license. I’m competent. I like to drive, but I don’t love it. And thanks to my bass player and my wife, I haven’t had to take the wheel (read: been allowed to) more than 10 times in the last five years. And, to be honest, I’ve had my fair share of death-defying scrapes behind the wheel, so maybe that’s for the best. Two of these incidents eventually ended up driving a wedge between me and one of my favorite albums.
The first was in high school. My girlfriend and I had just gotten into a fight, and I was driving home alone through the rain, sulking and not paying attention in the way 16-year-olds do. It didn’t help that the curve was banked wrong or that my dad chose the ultra-light and incredibly dangerous Pontiac Fiero as the object of his first midlife crisis, but through some sort of miracle, I missed a concrete embankment by a few inches as I nose-dived into the far side of a tiny creek and escaped relatively unscathed. It all happened in slow motion, and when it was over, the car was a crumpled mess, and “Simple Twist Of Fate,” my introduction into the magic of the major-seventh chord from Bob Dylan’s 1975 album Blood On The Tracks was playing in the tape deck. The possible severity of the accident escaped me at the time, but if it’s any indication of the closeness of the call, my dad didn’t care that I’d wrecked his prize possession. He was just glad I didn’t die.
The second time I felt death breathing down my neck was on a cross-country solo tour in the late autumn. The time of year when you don’t think about things like ice and snow, until you hit the long stretch of high country between Minneapolis and Seattle. The time of year when guys like me die hurrying to a show where they stand a good chance of making less money than what it cost them in gas to get there. It was a blizzard. Visibility was bad, the ice was worse, cars were going off the road left and right, but I felt like I had to keep moving. And then I was spinning. Once. Twice. Three times. I felt the van rise up and almost tip over as it slid down the side of the median. Then stillness and wintery silence, except for the sound of Dylan’s divorce record quietly chiming out of the car stereo speakers. Hours later, after finally being found and towed back out onto the highway, I rolled down the window and threw the cassette out into the snow. I’m not superstitious, but I also don’t like to take any chances. I haven’t willingly listened to that album since.
Video after the jump.
One reply on “Chris Mills Tells It Like It Is: Why I Don’t Listen To “Blood On The Tracks” Anymore”
I dont know where you found out that Fieros are dangerous, but you got your info from an irreputable source. Fieros had a 5-star crash rating according to the NHTSA and the only car safer during the 80s was the Volvo DL Wagon.