Syd, Chuck, Kris, a dark globe, some drunk guy, and me, Elizabeth
So I'm walking down the street in Berkeley, and there's this hippie-type guy walking just behind me playing a Spanish guitar (not singing, just playing.) To my amazement, he was playing one of my favorite songs: the Syd Barrett tune that goes something like "oh where are you now pussy willow that smiled on this leaf when I was alone?"
He was doing a perfect, chord for chord, note for note rendition complete with the lovable, quirky, impossible-to-replicate rhythmic anomalies. (You know, a measure of four, then one of 5, then one of three and a half, then an unquantifiable pause, etc.) This is really hard to do. I've been trying ever since I was a teenager, and I've never been able to get the hang of it.
So I turn around to look at him, and perhaps to congratulate him on his taste and virtuosity, when I realize "oh wait, he's not playing that song at all. He's just drunk."
He looked at me like he thought I was going to punch him or something. So I said "hey," and we moved on.
This says something either very bad or very good about my personal aesthetic. Maybe both.
I was on my way to meet my good friend Chuck Prophet who just got back from all his touring for his new big radio record. We sat in Tully's cafe and spent about two hours talking about about how hard it is to write songs and how great Kris Kristofferson is.
A perfect day.
Posted by Dr. Frank at November 25, 2002 06:25 PM | TrackBack