|suddenly, i understand the
devotion of deadheads. seeing jonathan
richman for the first time, at tractor tavern, i
mesmerized, smiling, wishing i had the
tape recorder being belatedly sent from
minneapolis where it fell out of my bag.
i recorded some clips with my trial camera, and
listening to them today is a little
painful. it's like being really drunk
and having your friends tell you all the
stupid things you did, but in a good way.
i mean, it's better than i remember it.
drummer tommy larkin was fascinating to
watch at his simple kit, fixed sidelong
glance watching for cues. both dudes
are real musicians, tight. i could see why
he had mariachi guys open--i imagine them
chuckling, trading latin flavor licks.
tommy kept the beat pure and clean while
jonathan sang about picasso, dali, paris,
goth gals, dancing lesbians, NYC,
breaking up, letting go, and the need to
love being stronger than the need to be
loved. but the part which got me
dizziest was when he improv'd a rant about
hating planes and cars, preferring the
train, and how of course trains
don't support themselves, but neither do
the airlines, recipients of tax dollar bailouts
even before 9/11.
yeah! and this
segued into a song about the plaza, a
place for people to gather, free of TV and
other isolating distractions. yeah! so,
look, if you were there and you got a tape
of the show, please oh please won't you contact me? i
want to hear it again.