headlights splay across a country roadway/ single lane both ways in groovy groovin’ grooves/ to the smooth, smooth sound of billie holiday
and the singer goes yeah babe yeah yeah yeah/ then electric guitar wangs wah wah funk
Every now and then we publish poems: thoughts and ideas about music. Sometimes they tell a story. Sometimes they don’t. It doesn’t hurt to bend the rules on the odd occasion.
I have a vivid memory from that time of watching this wonderful film near the end of its run in Mid-City’s main cinema, which seated close to a thousand people, with only a couple of others in attendance.
I heard a savage angel outside my apartment window
When I was with you I felt like Paul Westerberg /Yearning, hopeful, bruised but romantic
so often a jazz performance /only swings with sub-Coltrane licks/but experimentalism is the whipping boy/ of evolution
Staring at nothing/But sleep’s petulant absence./Most nights were like this/Toward the end.
The second volume of playful rhymes from Damian Balassone, featuring Cliff Richard, Blue Moon River, and Taylor Swift.
Music is a fast ride./With the first rolls/of that old drum intro/I was snared.