1965 Buick in Texas

[q17]

The Doors' "The WASP (Texas radio and the Big Beat)" gives me a hankering for Buck 65. It makes me yearn for the smooth gravelly purr of a '65 Buick transcended thru the rock-birth-and-death of Jim Morrison into a slightly gangly young man from Nova Scotia, Canada. Alone and not-quite-frightened on a large empty stage beneath an even bigger cloudless sky, like when I first saw him a Hillside. His no-nonsense call-it-as-he-sees-it story-telling slipping thru the beats and riffs sliding out of the blank black speakers. Some would indeed call him heavenly in his brilliance, and pyramids would erupt from the earth, stretching into the sky, the audience's hands stretching and clapping, hollers of appreciation for the show, in honour of the escape from the desert of mundane. Buck 65 tells you about heartache, the loss of blood and God, the renewal of life, and what's really out there. He tells tales of his encounter with the maiden with the wrought-iron soul on a hopeless night, while wandering the Western dream, of his personal battle to stay cool and calm in Virginia, trying to master a narrow back-beat with precision, all for your pleasure. Low, jazzy beats leak out of the speakers like rivulets of truth, running along the ground like blood thumped thru the amp's heart-beat, soaking the immaculate listeners before they even notice, as they search for honesty in the star-less azure sky. The soft-hearted really are driven slowly mad by this new language, these notes of any and every musical instrument, all within his expert repertoire, encapsulated in various sizes on that magic table of his. The culmination comes hard and swift, and seems to hit the audience quickly and in the gut, though it has slowly been building up their spines all night, indeed all their lives.

*S

P.S. This new "My LJ" thing... I thought I liked it, but it may not be so reliable after all...