Swagger doesn't happen by accident. Unfortunately obscured in this picture is my new prized possession, a Great Gatsby locket, gift from my older sister.
"What pictures will you put in it?" she asked, and I didn't answer at the time but I'm leaning toward Neal Cassady and Elon Musk.
I drove to Woodstock, New York to see a band. Before the first show I treated myself to a motel room so I could grade papers, but in Connecticut I'll be sleeping in the Champion, iced-over windshield concealing a view of Long Island Sound.
Here is my travel wardrobe. I call it "Backstage with Old Crow Medicine Show," or "Evel Knievel Incognito at a Barn Wedding."I shouldn't be able to blend in anywhere with my spangles, my stars and stripes, my unnecessary white dresses and my tee shirt with vintage revolver on it. But the crowd is heavily flanneled and suspendered and anyway, I sit in the back.
The band didn't break up, but one left the group and another wrote a solo project. The nice side effect is that they come to each other's shows now. You're as likely as not to see one onstage and another in the house. I spot one right away; he has always had the look of a Civil War ferrotype about to rob a convenience store. I once saw him toss his guitar behind him and keep going when it began feeding back midway through “The Devil is Real.”
title credit M.I.A.
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