Tales From This Side

Sharp lessons from youth stand out in my mind, a snap-shot reel of images that play out the crucial scenes from a formative moment.  Although I was only a small boy, I can remember the feeling of the chocolate bar in my pocket, flat and stiff, poking into my leg.  I can remember my mother's face, in the car, when she watched me start peeling back the foil wrapper.  And I most certainly remember her walking me down the checkout aisle of the grocery store I had stolen it from when she made me hand it back to the manager, who smiled at me from under a waxy, black mustache.  It was a stiff reprimand from my parents (my father had also been in the car) regarding the act of thievery, as evidenced by the clarity of the images that I recall.  But what if I had succeeded?  What if I had kept it in my pocket until I got home and opened it in secret?  What sort of reversed moral reinforcement would have imprinted itself?  My mother had, when I was young, often repeated the popular mantra &quo

**Cross-posted from ADT Music ** Song:  Descending ( listen ) Album:  Amorica (1994) ( listen ) Artist:  The Black Crowes When it comes to using the blues as a modern rock influence The Black Crowes are not unique.  The Brits got there long before any white Americans did, under the guidance of bands like The Yardbirds and Led Zeppelin , infusing one of the few, truly original American music forms with pop, folk, and rock essences that made it accessible to mainstream listeners.  In doing so most of these bands brought the notion of riff-based song structures to popular music (a form that is at the heart of blues).  In some cases, the songs lifted the lyrics and riffs of blues staples directly, adding electric instrumentation, percussion, and decidedly more robust vocals.  (See, for example, Led Zeppelin's Bring It On Home ( listen ), which opens with a direct, musical homage to the original , offering song credits to Willie Dixon in the process, before shifting into a b

**Cross-posted from ADT Music **  Song:  Trinity Road ( listen ) Album:  Chapter Eleven (1995) ( listen ) Artist:  Michael Lee Firkins I'm a sucker for a lot of things: baroque writing, painfully arduous hikes, and really, really hot salsa, to name a few.  Although this song is none of those things, it is something else that I'm an absolute sucker for:  melodic guitar music.  I tend to like music that was once cool (like 70's guitar rock), music that has never been cool (like progressive, conceptual rock), and most certainly music that would get any red-blooded male laughed at in a biker bar (like the sort of guitar balladry that Joe Satriani and Steve Vai have become semi-famous for). Michael Lee Firkins falls into step with this latter group of musicians for writing complex, guitar-based, instrumental music.  The origins of this "genre" are oftentimes attributed to Joe Satriani, who first made a splash in the r

It seems to me that the fellow with Pornstar emblazoned upon his shirt seems least likely to be one in a starring role; That the girl with Love boldly across her chest seems not to love me looking at her; That the seat in the pants labeled Juicy is really a bit more than overripe. Would he be less or more if the Chinese tattoo that he thinks says Loyal actually said Lonely ? Would you know that the calluses on her fingertips said that she played the guitar every Friday night; That the sawdust on his pant leg said that he worked with his hands; That the faded, green t-shirt on sale at the Salvation Army fit snugly over a label once, but that he outgrew it? I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman, You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can.

The sun was already well beyond its afternoon zenith, shining brightly off the distant waves, when Lonnie showed up.  She glided around the edge of the patio fence, her lower body hidden.  I was sitting at a small table – only two seats – facing out, away from the restaurant’s porch, and she waved and smiled, mouthing a “Hello, Davey!” even though she was only a few feet away.  Her wave was childlike, a rapid flutter of fingers, bending from the knuckle.  I smiled back, involuntarily. Lonnie stepped onto the porch and crossed the patio to my table.  Each step of her platform heels clacked against the stone, announcing her arrival, and her leather shoulder bag bounced off her hip in time with her footsteps.  Long waves of blonde hair fell from her head, cascading over and around her chest, wreathing her slim figure in a moving frame.  As she got close to the table she mimed a sprinter’s dash, in place, and her deep blue, tight fitting jeans scuffed against themselves while her arms pu

Under the sterile, white, neon lights, everything seemed to jump out at the young man.  Under the sun, with the movement between light and shade, there were depths and dimensions.  Here, however, in the store, it was more like a single plane; only the loudest colors, the most garish statements, had any chance of standing out.  Buy One, Get One Free! (it had yellow, serrated edges); 20% Off This Entire Shelf! (the green background made the red letters appear to shimmer). The man dragged himself down the flatness of the aisle, eyes catching on sign and display, until he reached the notebooks.  Spiral ring, college ruled; 1 subject, 3 subject, 6 subject; 3 pack, 6 pack, 10 pack, each wrapped in cellophane.  The man thought about his uncle.  He had always said that he was a writer, though he didn’t seem to write very much.  The man was a boy, flipping through his uncle’s notebook, 6 subject.  His uncle coughed while he spoke.  “What a waste ( cough ), all those pages (cough ), all empty.