So when asked to be a guest editor for MAGNET, my initial reaction was that my inner 18-year-old self might flip out so much that I might have nary a word to say. However, I persevered and was immediately filled with some of the memories of growing up in the proverbial “sticks” in the ’90s. Starting there and moving forward to the present day, I accumulated a list of people, movies, music, food, poets and other stuff that, although not exhaustive by any extent, it gives an insight into me, my music, the band, inspirations and interests. At the very least I would hope that a few of these things may also be viewed as recommendations that could steer people toward becoming acquainted with a few new people, and things that I find dear. It goes without saying, I appreciate the opportunity to “preach from the pulpit,” so to speak and air my opinion on so many different things. Normally people only care about what I say about my music or music in general, which can get tedious. So thank you, MAGNET, for providing the platform to impose my taste on others. Really and truly, I hope someone finds something in here that they, too, can enjoy.
The late Joe Bolton published three books of poetry before his untimely death in 1990. I recently got into reading one of his books entitled Days Of Summer Gone. His free verse reads kind of like a cross between Whitman and Bukowski but with a much more Southern perspective. It seems like he was definitely trying to parse the concept of what contemporary America was during the 1980s and as a result delivers his poems with a tone sympathetic to punk and indie rock.
Poem after the jump.
The Name Of Desire
The Holiday Inn Vanderbilt, Nashville
After the many-colored but mainly blue
Seasons of our two solitudes – the hours
Of longing and the flight from longing, the years
Spent remembering as if memory were true-
We stand together on a balcony
Above the city of losses, the city of lights
Bouncing back off a starless sky, the city
Where we’ll try to save this night from the death of nights.
Ours has become a life in which the self
And the self’s other begin to anticipate the chances
Taken in the name of desire. Desire:
That sweet song the body sings to itself,
Or under the best of circumstances
The song two bodies sing to each other.
There is something about being in sterile hotel rooms away from home pining about people you love. It’s almost like an emotional pressure cooker. I bet every musician I know has felt this way in a some kind of divey Motel 6 from Nebraska to Maine.
