LONESOME PILGRIM

CLICK HERE FOR SONG

 

"If a body catch a body comin' through the rye..."

When I read the news of Salinger's death tonight on CNN's scrolling ticker, I experienced a momentary start.  I quickly turned to my wife and told her the news and then discussed it briefly with my mom on the phone (we were talking when I caught a glimpse of the headline).  I immediately began to feel a tinge of sadness.  I knew I needed to post an entry to commemorate the moment and offer my gratitude to the author for offering the world an enormous gift in Holden.

I don't have the words to adequately describe the indelible influence of J.D. Salinger's book, "The Catcher in the Rye" on me personally.  There are four books that carry a uniquely special place in my life.  Of these, "Catcher" is my favorite, and has been since I was 18 or 19.  I'm 42 now, so a good span of time.  I’ve read his other works and outside of “Franny and Zooey,” don’t find them particularly memorable.  But “Catcher” is another matter.

This book has a reputation for capturing the heart of many readers, only to ultimately let them go later in life.  Truth is, I think they are the ones letting go.  (Kind of the point of the book, in an ironic way, with its theme of "innocence under pressure.")  I once heard one of my sisters-in-law remark that one of her friends, who apparently was originally moved in her youth by this book, had re-read it later in life as a selection in her book club, a revisitation of a contemporary "classic," and had commented that she found Holden immature and childish—or something like that.  Basically, that he needed to "grow up."

I haven't "outgrown" it like I hear many others do, and I pray that is the way it will always be with me.  (I have a book, "With Love and Squalor: 14 Writers Respond to the Work of J. D. Salinger," which is a collection of essays where many former "Catcher" aficionados articulate why they no longer find it resonates with them).  I don't and never have agreed with every sentiment expressed in "Catcher," but that's what makes it so special.  From an alchemy of ink and paper, Salinger conjured up a real person in his key protagonist.  I'm a kindred spirit with Holden, even though I don't necessarily see everything as he does (though mostly I do, truth be told).  And, no, I'm not crazy, at least not entirely.  Grin.  It seems that every so often some freak does something nuts in the name of this beautiful story.  Nothing original about that, though.  On a daily basis the same is done with Holy Writ.  And it seems Mr. Salinger was an eccentric at best for the better part of his life. 

The image below is a scan of my first and most important copy of "Catcher."  I have multiple copies (yeah, I know…), but only read this one.  As you can see it has experienced considerable use.  It's been a mainstay of comfort for me.  I read it roughly every year or so, something of a ritual.  The irony is that I picked it up (it resides in my nightstand drawer) two days ago and started to read it.  I've been feeling the weight of many things lately, so I reached out to a kindred spirit (Holden, not Salinger) for support, if you will.  I'm not happy to hear the news of Salinger's passing, but in a mood of melancholy, I am strangely comforted by the fact that I was reading his magnum opus when I learned of the news.

God bless you, Mr. Salinger, on the next leg of your journey.

  

Click here:  J.D. Salinger dies at 91

"...I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all.  Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around--nobody big, I mean--except me.  And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.  What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff--I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them.  That's all I'd do all day.  I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all.  I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.  I know it's crazy."

-from "The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger (Holden speaking)

Soul-Full Living III: Sabbath Moments

Warning:  If you choose to read the below be prepared for a ranting diatribe.

“You must have a place to which you can go in your heart, your mind, or your house, almost every day, where you do not owe anyone and where no one owes you—a place that simply allows for the blossoming of something new and promising.”

-Joseph Campbell, “The Power of Myth”

Campbell’s cry of wisdom, like a secular prophet among the modern landscape, calls us to a quest, a journey, a path, one that must be embarked upon, purposely chosen, deliberately determined, and intentionally integrated into living.  To wait for a time when you can get “away” is to invite the specter of incremental invasion by everything that is not uniquely you…a true body snatching and possession that will find you one day a pixilation of yourself—a slow, creeping, suffocation of the soul.

We must hearken to the call to pause and breathe.  The challenge, even barrier at times, is that we live in a world where everything, and I mean everything, is digitized.  Heaven forbid that people enjoy the touch and smell, indeed, the je ne sais quoi comfort of a real book—paper and ink, a cover cracked and worn from repeated use and time (I’ve fallen asleep with a book next to me in my bed purposely not moving it to my nightstand).  Instead, let’s put it all in a small microprocessor a la Amazon’s Kindle*.   One is somehow more real, as it were, somehow “present”; whereas the other is a utilitarian cage that captures the spirit of the story and reduces it to binary numbers, essentially a bunch of zeros and ones.  I know, I know…I’m engaging in hyperbole, but it still pisses me off.

Worse yet, let’s encourage our youth, hell, adults are doing it too, to play endless hours of “Guitar Hero,” so that at the end of the day they’ve been sufficiently anesthetized and distracted, but couldn’t play a real chord on a real guitar to save their lives.  One is pure fantasy, the other an art form.   Imagine if the masses (literally!) of those pretending to be “guitar heroes” were to pick up a real guitar, or any other musical instrument of their choice, and invest the same amount of time learning to actually play and create, how life and the world would be so different.  We’d be transformed as a people.  What is happening now, at least on many levels, through the means of a technopoly, is not transformation, but rather often a distortion or mutation of something good and meaningful into a faux replica of the real thing.

Similary, in full disclosure and candor, I lament the lost art of letter writing.  Now it’s emails (not so bad, but certainly not as personal), bullshit “tweets,” and texting (in the middle of a goddamn movie for heaven’s sake—some kid couldn’t keep still next to me for a measly two hours to watch a flick, an irony given the movie I was watching—“The Book of Eli”), all of which rarely connects two sentences together, much less two coherent thoughts.

Now…as per usual, I’m preaching to myself.  My work, my job, the manner and way in which I make my “living” and pay the bills, takes a heavy toll, hence the venting.  And let it be said, I’m thankful for gainful and, usually, somewhat meaningful employment, but it’s not a vocation in the truest sense of that word.  The amount of time, energy, and effort required to be successful in my role is considerable…and currently there’s not a realistic or viable alternative or option for me.  So be it.  I have my wonderful, beautiful daughters to provide for, to offer a stable world in which to live, and, as such, I don’t mind.  All that I have is theirs—including most of the overlap of our waking hours (when I’m not at work, of course).

I very frequently stay up late into the wee hours after my two “little ones” (alas, not so little anymore—ten and nine) have entered the enchanted altered dimension of their slumbering dreams.  It is then that I find some measure of contentment, outside of the pleasure of being a dad, by engaging in key activities that nurture me—reading, writing, blogging (not the same as real writing), listening to music, drinking whiskey, watching my favorite films, playing my guitar, shadow boxing and working the speed bag, and pondering God (you know--if God has all the "omni's," then why Haiti?  I basically have a running theodicy going on in my mind).

So…after all that ranting and raving, I’m back to the beginning of my proposition—the clarion call of Campbell.  I am determined to carve out more time, to design opportunities for Sabbath Moments. What transpires, if anything, during these moments I will leave to Mystery—maybe they’ll be dry and hollow, maybe deep and penetrating, more likely somewhere in the middle, but that part is not my responsibility in the process, but the Divine‘s.  My work is to find, even mandate, and allow for space and time for Sabbath Moments that bear witness to my deeper, real self and also who (whom?  I always get confused—I need to look it up I suppose) I should and can become.  As a starting place, the church I attend, Pax Christi, (yeah, I know, I should be more of a member, a parishioner, a part of the community, rather than just “attend”…at least it has a cool Latin name--grin), which is a slight stretch down the way from my house, has a small labyrinth (or as my girls think of it, a maze or puzzle to play in—geez—grin, I can’t even convince them.  That’s okay; I love ‘em).  I propose to myself to “walk” it more frequently—to go where I can see clearly the majestic Rockies in the background, take some quiet and deep breathes, and pause.

 

     Every day after school, the son of a well-known rabbi would enter his house, place his backpack on the dining room table, leave the house through the back door, and head into the woods behind the house.

     At first, the rabbi gave little thought to his son’s ritual.  But it continued for days, and then for weeks.  Every day, out into the woods for almost a half hour.  The rabbi grew concerned.

     “My son,” he said one day.  “I notice that every day you leave our home to spend time in the woods. What is it you are doing there?”

     “Oh, Papa,” the son replied.  “There is no need to worry.  I go into the woods to pray.  It is in the woods that I can talk to God.”

     “Oh,” the rabbi said, clearly relieved.  “But, as the son of a rabbi, you should know that God is the same everywhere.”

     “Yes, Papa.  I know that God is the same everywhere.  But, I am not.”

-story recounted by Terry Hershey, "The Power of Pause"

*I’m not adverse to technology, hell, I’m blogging on my home PC to post this blabbering mess of thoughts, the family has a roving laptop and satellite TV with a shitload of stations to peruse, I have a BlackBerry (actually, this is more of an electronic leash to my work environ, along with the remote access I have to my company’s network),  I have an electric guitar, and, yes…my kids have a Wii, a Nintendo DS, cell phones, etc., but it’s the all consuming, pervasive, controlling aspect of the “advancement” of technology that I begrudge.  It’s a losing battle, I know, and in many respects I’m hypocritical, but putting down my thoughts keeps me sane.  I know that “books,” the paper, ink, leather, jackets, etc., are just the temporal materials, the vehicles, through which stories, the real beating heart, are conveyed and projected.  And, no doubt, I will eventually relent and acquiesce to the technology gods and own a Kindle or nook myself, but it’s not and won’t be the same, much less better.  My brother-in-law, a complete technophile, showed me with great pride—he was trying to “poke” me a bit, pull the scab off a wound to essentially “inform” me that I’m a lost and last breed—his Kindle with “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” downloaded on it.  Are you fucking kiddin’ me!  Huck Finn rafting down the Mississippi eluding the authorities and conventions of his time on a Kindle??  I tried it and was appalled at some level deep inside myself, but even with my biased psychosomatic revulsion set aside, it was a big pain in the ass to use.   I just didn’t feel like I was reading a story.  I wonder how Twain would feel?  Who knows, he’d probably be much more modern and sensible than I.

Sorry for the tirade.

KU Acoustic

Hands-down my favorite player.  When you hear him play acoustic you realize how good he is.  Amazing!

Haiti's Burden

God help us, help them.



John Mellencamp A Ride Back Home -

I always drink whiskey when I listen to Shelby...

...though I'm not sure why.  She's intoxicating enough without liquor to boot.  Which reminds me, I have a new favorite whiskey called Pendleton.  It's a premium blended Canadian whisky (the way our friends up north prefer to spell it--no key, just ky).  It has a weird ass, convoluted distillation process and naming convention.  It's imported and bottled by Hood River Distillers in Oregon here in the good ole US of A using glacier-fed spring water from Mt. Hood, but it's a product of Canada, and,yet another but...it takes its name from the Pendleton Round-Up, which is a famous rodeo in the States.  Go figure.  I have no fucking idear.  I polished off my first bottle in short order and let little time waste before I picked up my second.  

See post title for a link to a recent (December '09) live performance of Shelby singing "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me."  My favorite cut off her last album.  Patiently...not...waiting for her next release.  I hope soon.

Notice in the video clip she's holding a bottle of beer she's been drinking.  This gal is crazy good.

Polk Salad Annie

Archive post on Shelby

Solvitur Ambulando

Solvitur Ambulando (Latin):  “It is solved by walking”  
-attributed to St. Augustine

"The heart has its reasons that reason does not know."
-Pascal

Crossroads Guitar Duel

A delightfully wicked scene of headcuttin'!  (see post title for link)

Definition:  Cuttin' Heads; also known as headcutting.  The term refers to a competition between musicians where one player will try to outdo another, entertaining an audience by outplaying or outperforming a rival. A time-honored blues tradition.

Deep Places

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

-William Wordsworth

PLAY!

BRAD PAISLEY

 One of my fave guitarist.  Great song writer, good vocalist.

He can PLAY!

LISTEN:  TURF'S UP

• Blistering instrumental!  

 











LISTEN:  WHEN I GET WHERE I'M GOING

• This song never fails to move me.  The words are beautiful, even poetic at times.

WATCH:  WHISKEY LULLABY 

• A superb duet with Alison Krauss.  Beautiful storytelling. 

Refiner's Fire

"And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love."

          -William Blake

Frank Schaeffer Interview III: Church and State - The Role of Spirituality in Politics

Frank Schaeffer Interview II: Fundamentalism - Religious and Atheistic

Frank Schaeffer Interview I: Obama & the Religious Right

Writing: The Dream of My Hope

My soul aches with the desire to write.  Not just any hapless string of words, but something meaningful and authentic to me and life.  I’m frequently intoxicated by books and stories, my real life spinning and buoyant with an imagined world conjured via the written word.  The “dream of my hope” is that one day, before my allotment of time this side of life is extinguished, my fervent appeal to the gods of Story will be granted—to experience the blessed fortune of humbly offering a worthy story, a novel, for posterity…but with a condition.  If by some tender caress of grace I ever succeed at wooing one of the ever elusive and ethereal muses to labor with me for a spell to compel this dream to animate with words on the canvas of a blank page, I would allow it to materialize only if it ultimately surrendered to the spirit of Leo Tolstoy’s standard that resonates deeply with me:  “The aim of an artist is not to solve a problem irrefutably, but to make people love life in all its countless, inexhaustible manifestations. If I were told that I could write a novel whereby I might irrefutably establish what seemed to me the correct point of view on all social problems, I would not even devote two hours to such a novel; but if I were to be told that what I should write would be read in twenty years’ time by those by who are now children and that they would laugh and cry over it, and love life, I would devote all my own life and all my energies to it.”

I recently encountered another piece of vintage and eminently practical writing advice in the form of a quote from the renowned author, Isak Dinesen:  “Write a little every day, without hope, without despair.”  Author, Mindy Friddle, proffers a brief commentary on the Dinesen citation that renders a beautiful translation of the adage that blooms with keen insight and glows with meaning:  “Words of wisdom from Isak...a succinct way of advising one should write without expectations, ‘relinquishing the fruit of action,’ in Bhagavad Gita terms. The joy in performing an action is much greater than the joy you get from the fruit of the action.”

All this in spite of the fact that I’m not by any real standard much good at weaving words together in a manner that ultimately is sticky.  Moreover, discovering and grasping a cohesive story eludes me with the slipperiness of a mossy river rock.  But, as even a brief perusal of EAC would reveal, hope-filled belief and Mystery are intangibles that are imbued with meaning when “seen” through the eyes of the heart.  And so, I will go on believing and hoping…and laboring.

Sanctioned Violence - Pacquiao vs. Cotto

 



























Manny Pacquiao (pictured top-right), a southpaw who hails from the Philippines, is the considerable odds-on favorite, both with fans and betting money lines, which is especially notable given his opponent, Miguel Cotto (pictured bottom-right).  Cotto is a proud and esteemed fighter from Puerto Rico, an island with a rich and storied boxing heritage.  Cotto is not accustomed to being an underdog, as his record, replete with legitimate opponents defeated at his hands, attests, but that is precisely where he finds himself in this bout set to explode tonight in Sin City.  In spite of his stellar record and laudable skills and ring generalship, the oddsmakers are favoring Pacquiao because of his matchless hand speed and the fiery assault that he brings to the squared circle.

Both boxers are in peak condition and in their physical prime, essentially at the top of their game.  There is much at stake for both, too.  Only one will move forward with a glorious destiny still intact, while the other will be relegated to a contender status, albeit as an extremely talented one.  The best fighter will ultimately have their hand raised in triumph tonight to savor and relish the spoils of victory.  The victor will almost certainly be paired in a legitimate future match-up against the best pound-for-pound pugilist, Floyd Mayweather, Jr.  This latter fight, should it indeed come to fruition, would be the only one in quite some time that I can imagine being more anticipated and touted than the action scheduled for tonight.  As such, tonight’s fight represents one of the best match-ups in many, many years, instead of being just another largely promoter engineered and hyped event (though no doubt, it is this, as well).

I am a man primarily and ultimately ruled by my heart.  That said, a continual war is waged for primacy within the confines of my psyche between head and heart.  With that as context, I'm picking and rooting for Cotto to win.  His boxing skills are enviable, even among the best of professionals.  He is technically sound and is heavy handed.  More importantly, he is a cerebral fighter, always weighing the strategy of the fight like a chess match.  This is only outdone by his heart.  He is a determined, intense, and internally focused fighter.  His persona is introspective and centered.  His ego is kept in check by close-knit relationships with loved ones.  Instead of traditional ego and bravado, he exudes more of a self-confident resolve. He has intangibles that are at play.  I admire these traits.

My head says Pacquiao.  Even though he is the fighter coming up in weight to Cotto's division (Cotto is the natural welterweight), he is a supremely gifted athlete.  His angles, swift and nimble footwork, speed and quickness are art in motion and beautiful to behold.  He's riding a crest of momentum that seems unstoppable, which may indeed be the case.  Likewise, as with Cotto, Pacquiao seems like a good man, not just a great boxer.  Many stories confirm his generosity and his being rather rooted to his religious upbringing.  Nonetheless, he is by most accounts addicted to the distractions of fame and seeks out the limelight of public admiration.  While his ego is a minor character at best in comparison to Floyd Mayweather, Jr., he apparently is fully at home as the center of attention as a celebrity and surrounds himself with an adoring entourage befitting a star.  Of course, he is a star.  Who knows, though?  Maybe he's just a gregarious extrovert and that accounts for all the hoopla that attends him.  Either way, he poses an ideal juxtaposition to Cotto's demeanor and style (personal and boxing), which will make for a glorious match of skill and will.

"In the brightly lit ring, man is in extremis, performing an atavistic rite or agon for the mysterious solace of those who can participate only vicariously in such drama: the drama of life in the flesh. Boxing has become America's tragic theater."

-Joyce Carol Oates

Your Lies

My fave Shelby Lynne tune. Great vibe!

Absence and Presence: The Threads of Life

Separation

By W.S. Merwin

Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Poetry usually eludes me. Poets and poems typically broadcast on a frequency that, in spite of my best efforts at hairline adjustments with the tuning dial, render a reception usually on the order of static with only the occasional breakthrough of clarity. The problem is largely with the receiver, not the transmitter. There are a number of exceptions. One such poem that captures my attention and unveils a vista of meaning is “Separation” by W.S. Merwin.

I admire this poem for its ability to penetrate the heart and conjure a world of feelings with a modicum of words. Its scarcity belies it depth. It paints, even sears, a tactile impression in the mind’s eye. At first blush, it’s tempting to compare this poem to a terse, bite-sized proverb dispensing clever axiomatic wisdom. But upon deeper reflection, it reveals a manifesto of emotion. Merwin exposes the raw nerve endings of a deeply felt experience and concentrates it into an aching psalm of the heart. Its metaphor is stark, even harsh, yet surprisingly beautiful, as it awakens the heart with neon truth. It’s simple, but not simplistic, allowing for multifaceted interpretations. Its application is broad in scope: lovers, friends, family, adversaries, God, et al.

When I encountered this poem for the first time, I quickly felt and sensed its weight as a parent. I am an active and involved Dad (I have two daughters—8 and 10), and I instinctively perceived the corollary to Merwin’s poem and exchanged the word “absence” with “presence.” In the context of noble fatherhood, absence acquires attributes that can be sharp and cutting to the soul, leaving abandoned hollow spaces that long to be filled and wounds that need healing, whereas presence is nurturing and protective and provides a climate for healthy and hope-filled growth. Absence is more likely to lacerate and puncture, while presence provides a safe harbor and lifts the spirit.

Relationships are defined by presence and absence. While the physical side of presence or absence is the most conspicuous, the more meaningful manifestations are emotional and spiritual. A body may be within an arm’s reach, but the heart of the same a thousand miles away. Of course, the experience of absence or presence is not uniform. Depending on times, situations, and circumstances either can prove positive or negative. Both attach tethers that are far reaching in life.

From time immemorial everything has a season. Most will experience both absence and presence in the course of a lifetime, though to varying degrees and duration. Regardless of station in life, the impact of absence and presence is pervasive, stitching indelible threads in the fabric of life.

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” -Hemingway

Treasures

"The treasure which you think not worth taking trouble and pains to find, this one alone is the real treasure you are longing for all your life. The glittering treasure you are hunting for day and night lies buried on the other side of that hill yonder."

-B. Traven (epigraph from the novel, "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre")

"Old Enough" - The Raconteurs

Check out this cool video and great song--"Old Enough." I watch and listen to this tune frequently.

Jack White* (the guy playing the red acoustic next to Skaggs) is the leader of this group--The Raconteurs. They typically play alt-rock, but retranslated this song into the musical vernacular of bluegrass. Here's the original cut to compare and contrast.

*Yeah--that Jack White--of "The White Stripes"--one hell of a guitarist, though on "Old Enough" he steps into the background to give the spotlight to the two featured artists--Ricky Skaggs and Ashley Monroe. White is a revered musician, although I can't get into most of his music outside of his forays into alt-country and bluegrass. He plays a minor role in the beautiful film "Cold Mountain" (based on the equally beautiful novel by the same name written by Charles Frazier). He does several cuts off the soundtrack which are primo. Here's my fave--"Great High Mountain."

Check out this awesome alt-country tune (I believe it's a remake) called "Portland, Oregon" that White does with Loretta Lynn (yep--the Coal Miner's Daughter).

Here's an old related archived EAC post from early 2006. Funny how certain themes are circuitous.

Rocktober Returns!

Go Rockies!

Movie Matinee Madness - "Inglourious Bastards"

I saw this flick today. Superb!

Click HERE to view trailer.

Real Magic

TAKE AND READ...AND LEARN OF REAL MAGIC...


Select my post title for a link to DiCamillo talking about her new novel.


“A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.”
-C.S. Lewis

Mayweather: Boxing Virtuoso

Floyd Mayweather, Jr., is fighting tonight, and I'll be watching via HBO PPV. He's as close to a sure bet as they come. His boxing acumen and talent is unmatched and a marvel to behold. He offers up the highest order of skill currently (maybe ever) among the practitioners of the Sweet Science. He is without a doubt a boxing virtuoso.

He's coming out of "retirement," which was a joke the moment he announced it given the career life that remained unspent, but he's been away from the fight game for nearly two years, so the "ring rust" may be present early on in the fight, but all indications point to him still being the best pound-for-pound pugilist in my estimation.

He's fighting a very good and seasoned, though smaller, Mexican fighter with enormous will, so he'll need to be on his guard, but Mayweather's win is nearly (I won't say categorically--that's why they "fight the fights") a foregone conclusion. "Pretty Boy" Floyd's speed, timing, footwork, ring generalship, and uncanny and brilliant "shoulder roll" style (a characteristic trait of the Mayweather clan--his family has a prominent and storied, indeed, at times, infamous, history in the annals of the Sweet Science) are beautiful to watch.

He is not a humble man--at least as far as his public persona is revealed. Frankly, he comes across frequently as a prick. He claims to be the best, shouts it often from the roof tops, and the truth is--he is--as far as boxing goes. If he continues to sustain his dominant force as a boxer, he may ultimately garner consideration as the best ever. That remains to be seen, though.

I so wish he would adopt a more humble approach in terms of his attitude and presence. We need noble knights; we need heroes we can admire and model; alas, they are a dying breed. Who knows, maybe his private demeanor is materially different, but he comes across so shallow, arrogant, and narrow that I have a hard time imagining otherwise. If he were to project a more humble and centered personality and lifestyle, many would not only stand in awe of his ability, but would also admire him as a person.

Of course, there would likely be a significant monetary cost to him if he were to adopt something other than his brash, flamboyant, in-your-face, me-centered persona. He likely wouldn't be able to promote himself as successfully as he does now, and, as such, wouldn't make the significant coin he does, and he clearly voices his lust for the greenback. As evidence, among the various monikers he carries, one is "Money" Mayweather. He also has a hip hop record label called "Philthy Rich Records."

Boxing is so like life--underneath and running concurrent with the fight--there is so frequently a grand story behind it all!

Davy Knowles: Guitar god Rising!

I'm a guitar freak. Just a fact of life for me. Guitar (admiring the talent of others and playing myself), books and writing (ohh--what a dream!), boxing (admiring and practicing the "sweet science" myself), baseball, though more minor as a fixation, but I appreciate its mythic quality, spiritually-God haunted, and, of course, top of the list, being a Dad--that's me. I wonder what Freud would say? Grin. I prefer Jung anyway.

This past Friday night I journeyed to downtown Denver and listened--in awe--to this "kid" in his early 20s, Davy Knowles (pictured), conjure guitar riffs with a technical wizardry that belies his age. He played and sang with an emotional maturity and savvy of a seasoned bluesman.

His musical talent is a gift to behold. He is a guitar god rising! This I know. I venture to say he will be the next SRV.

His primary, though not exclusive, repertoire is a heavily blues infused rock. He not only has enviable guitar licks, but his voice is nicely suited to this style of music as well.

Listening to him play live was a sublime experience. I pulled a couple YouTube videos below to serve as samples. The second link is from the concert I attended (not recorded by me). Take a listen!

Video 1

Video 2

Marriage: A Double-Edged Sword

"Marriage hath in it less of beauty but more of safety, than the single life; it hath more care, but less danger, it is more merry, and more sad; it is fuller of sorrows, and fuller of joys; it lies under more burdens, but it is supported by all the strengths of love and charity, and those burdens are delightful."

-Bishop Jeremy Taylor (17th Century Anglican Clergyman and Theologian)

Les Paul Departs

Sad news for guitar aficionados around the world. Famed guitarist, Les Paul, died today at age 94. Select my post title for a link to the New York Times obituary.

All blessings to him and his memory.



I mentioned him in passing on one of my earlier blog posts this year: "STRADIVARIUS – Eddie Van Halen."

See HERE for a video clip of Mr. Paul proving he still had chops shredding "How High the Moon."

A Double Barrel Whiskey of a Song

Ahh...this is a tasty song--aged to perfection.

Movie Malaise

Just thinking out loud...it can be cathartic...sometimes...I watched a movie a few days ago--"The Exorcism of Emily Rose"--very disturbing, very depressing, unsettling...on multiple fronts.

The Souvenirs - King of Heartache

This is one album that I return to time and again. Their sound is retro and moody; a honky tonk vibe laced throughout with reverb. A lush Bakersfield sound. As a young boy, I grew up listening to tunes very similar in style and sound. As far as I know, it's their only official release (1999).

If you are so inclined, search for the artist and album name via Amazon.com to hear a 30 second preview of each track by selecting the"Listen to Samples" link.