it gets hot down where we're goin'
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That John Hiatt guy, he sure knows how to put chords together.
He's not too shabby at blues guitar, either.
My two favorite stretches of tonight's concert were
(1) his banter with Lyle Lovett about religion: Hiatt's Catholic, Lovett's Lutheran. Lovett brought it up by observing that a sense of being unworthy pervaded the love song Hiatt had just played, and when Hiatt went on a tear a few minutes later about the posturizing of apostolic representatives, Lovett gave him a long look: "Why John, you're sounding like you could be a Lutheran."
(2) a song about the open road that begins with, "A shrunken skull and Mardi Gras beads" -- apparently it's a very new song (first time performing it tonight), and a possible one for his next album, and if it does become one of the tracks, I am so there. It's driven and dark and melodic, and its chords have that Hiatt sound -- he writes certain progressions that just make my heart drop and my arms go round my knees because I hear them and it's like, someone gets how much the world can hollow you out, and force you into waters you knew would chill you to the bone long before you waded in, and yet you will go on, because oh, such honey to be tasted.
This morning, the wind was strong enough to blast my kitchen door open, and I feared for my windows. It flung open the lids of the garbage and recycling bins, and yet it was well-behaved enough to leave chairs and plants alone. It whistled through both rain and sun, and it was so warm throughout it all (high 60s) that it felt downright balmy as I shlepped assorted things to and from the house in the course of various chores.
Some years ago I wrote about how days like this there's only porch. I do believe I'll get some writing down the rest of this week - done is a separate bucket of fish, but some whisky and Emmylou Harris might help things along there. (And if not, I'll just focus on re-learning how to play poker by next weekend...)
He's not too shabby at blues guitar, either.
My two favorite stretches of tonight's concert were
(1) his banter with Lyle Lovett about religion: Hiatt's Catholic, Lovett's Lutheran. Lovett brought it up by observing that a sense of being unworthy pervaded the love song Hiatt had just played, and when Hiatt went on a tear a few minutes later about the posturizing of apostolic representatives, Lovett gave him a long look: "Why John, you're sounding like you could be a Lutheran."
(2) a song about the open road that begins with, "A shrunken skull and Mardi Gras beads" -- apparently it's a very new song (first time performing it tonight), and a possible one for his next album, and if it does become one of the tracks, I am so there. It's driven and dark and melodic, and its chords have that Hiatt sound -- he writes certain progressions that just make my heart drop and my arms go round my knees because I hear them and it's like, someone gets how much the world can hollow you out, and force you into waters you knew would chill you to the bone long before you waded in, and yet you will go on, because oh, such honey to be tasted.
This morning, the wind was strong enough to blast my kitchen door open, and I feared for my windows. It flung open the lids of the garbage and recycling bins, and yet it was well-behaved enough to leave chairs and plants alone. It whistled through both rain and sun, and it was so warm throughout it all (high 60s) that it felt downright balmy as I shlepped assorted things to and from the house in the course of various chores.
Some years ago I wrote about how days like this there's only porch. I do believe I'll get some writing down the rest of this week - done is a separate bucket of fish, but some whisky and Emmylou Harris might help things along there. (And if not, I'll just focus on re-learning how to play poker by next weekend...)
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