Sitting here at the table. No fucking furniture. Hardly any income. Listing to this thing on a portable CD player that Newt was so foolish as to “loan” me. Checking out the royalty check from Lyons Press (maybe enough to keep me in beer for a week or so) and wondering what the hell is gonna fall outta the sky and pay the rent next month. Angel hair in the pot, left over from my roommate from hell, Logan Strickland, when he blew outta here with about 18 hours notice and over a hundred bucks (which I’m sure I’ll NEVER see) in arrears over various bills and shit.
Care package from Dom Salemi.
Always a treat to open up and root around in.
Oh yeah. Almost forgot. Watched the latest Star Wars movie with my kid today. Lotsa fun. No hidden meaning nor specialized agenda. Just a fun romp in space. Thanks Kai.
Now, where were we? Oh yeah. Red Light .
First CD I played. Random order. Jackpot. Damn thing fits like an expensive glove.
Makes me wanna wallow in my present condition and hope that I never really amount to anything or else the whole ambiance will disappear like a puff of smoke.
Forties sorta sounding stuff. Or maybe early fifties. Boogie woogie, blues, and god knows what else. Who are these guys? Whoever they are, they compose, play, and sing like holy hell. Piano and sax in particular are just perfect, but everybody else is dialed right in, too. Most of it anterocks and rolls right along, but they toss out the occasional slower piece that just seems to add to the mood.
Damn good stuff.
Well, the whole package of angel hair is eaten, and I’m feeling fat and foolish. Time for another beer.
Time Bomb Recordings, 225 Lafayette Street #1006, New York, NY 10012; http://www.timebombrecordings.com