Pickle Trail Soundtrack
Some things manufactured, some things organic. Some things hunan, some things robotic. Darkness and light, joy and terror. Freshness and grime. The seasons are changing and with them my mood. The heart governs the vibes and the playlist reflects the sounds. Nothing has to make sense. Just feel, feel, feel.
The melody, lost in a derelict factory, discovers itself suddenly awake among the dark machinery. It rises above the detrius and soars through the cracked window panes and into the world, leaving fabrication for the past.
A magical night happens when the renaissance maiden lays with a barbarian tribe…until some surfers show up and they all sing show tunes. Ominous good times, bleek halloween clouds at dusk..
Day old cold doom, force-fed after a long wait. Bring a friend, metaphors are organic and sentences have grammar never seen before. There is fear here. “Doris” terrifies but draws like magnet. Nothing comfortable.
She never loved Theseus; or maybe he simply took her for granted. A girl’s gotta find love somewhere, and when a early nineties shuffle comes along, she’s going to groove and it will sound like both a celebration and a curse.
Bring Me A Little Water – Bob Dylan
Back to basics, maybe the only music he ever wanted to really sing. The song and dance man always seemed to find comfort in the dirty old standards. The old timey stuff is far more interesting than any of the original outtakes on the Bootleg Series vol. 10.
This Evening, So Soon – Bob Dylan
Once again, turning to the legends. The most important Dylan element is the musicologist in him. Every twentieth century artist owes something to Mahalia Jackson, one of many who performed this traditional; her voice is the sound of suffering, joy, reverence and hope.
Speaking of back to basics, it’s like the late nineties for these robot monseiurs. This is where I want to be: blasting into hyperdrive, arrive at the perfect vantage point , the universe laid out before me like I’m parked at makeout point, looking out at the vastness of the city lights.
The imagery of bodies, smooth and unblemished, blending like they were made to fit together. Brass harmonies applied like a subtle sheen of lipstick that begs to rubbed off on waiting flesh.
Again, the human body. Its possibilities extended to physics, its metronome hips coordinated with the energy of the night. Open to the promise of anything, guided by sudden, steady breath.
One Sunday Morning (song for Jane Smiley’s boyfriend) – Wilco
Sometimes a season presents itself though some irrational stimulus. There is a gentleness in the cooler weather, the rich colors and light of autumn. You imagine the midwest, the country, the endless bucolic history.