Things get interestinger and interestinger.
Especially the past. Longer ago than the invention of dirt, wrote “Angels Don’t Really Fly” with a cat I admired and barely knew. We hung out as teenagers. On his porch. His musicianship (could play guitar chords to any song you could sing) amazed me. Later, worked in the studio—Bill on drums, backing vocals and bass—recording my demos for Beat Bad Records, his label with Barry Knoedl. Will never, to this day, understand why he took such smug satisfaction in mimicking my improv oohs and ahhs on a song we wrote, “For You” (tailor made for Marty Balin). Should’ve been interested in originality. Spite, though, willed out. Anyhow, it is time to finish the recording project.
Enter Amber Gay of Inukshuk Pass. She comes down to Winterland Studios late July to sing the song. We’re doing two versions. One with the two of us, one just her. To say the God’s honest truth, it’s starting to seem more practical to bring producer Knoedl to Minneapolis than keep trying out vocalists. Not to mention getting around to mixing costs. Haven’t even thought about distribution for the CD. Win, lose or draw, “Angels” is done. I’d rather go home with Amber Gay singing it all by herself than keep f—ing around. And she isn’t costing airfare.
The book’s success still ain’t sunk in. Damn thing pretty much sold out. Lissa Jones had me last week as her guest on “Urban Agenda” (KMOJ). And you won’t believe who engineered. The one and onliest Q-Bear hisself! Don’t tell no one, but, between both of them, was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Thank God, it went real well.
Played with guitarist extraordinaire Mark Dorshak at Corner Coffee. That went well, too.
In the final, finessing stages of a new book deal. Do the words Kiss my grits if you don’t like it sound about right?
So. Cooler than a polar bear’s pajamas. Going to the dollar store first thing in the morning. For some nice-lookin’ shades. Come back to the crib and practice in the mirror. “No autographs, please.”
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