Years ago while I was busking on the street in Ann Arbor, an older woman interrupted me in the middle of a song to hand me a cd, telling me she considers it her best work. It was her recently-finished album and she was shopping it around, hoping to catch the ear of some powerful record exec, and for some reason she thought handing it to a dumpy white guy on the street with an acoustic guitar and harmonica was an obvious stepping stone toward her goal.
The CD was in a plain white envelope, and she had scribbled “Allow My Soul To Sing My Song” on it with a dying fine-tipped marker, alongside some crude stars and rainbows. This woman was typical old Ann Arbor crunchy; basically an aging hippie from a wealthy upbringing with a touch of crazy.
The music is gloriously terrible; the kind of awful that you just want to sink into. Part folk music, part spoken word with off-key, warbly operatic singing, spacey synth lines and weird guitar solos, performed with all the sincerity and self-assuredness in the world. It’s truly beautiful how horrendous it is and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who has heard it.
I’ve thought about uploading it to YouTube, because it deserves to be shared, to take on a life of its own. I think about her occasionally and wonder if she’s still alive, but I don’t think the CD even had her name on it, so I have no way to look her up.
Thanks to this I have looked up the awful barmy song I was introduced to at a sleepover when I was 17, and discovered that it was not only on YouTube but my memory of it, untouched for over 20 years, is astonishingly precise. Strange how these things sear themselves into your psyche ...
Having had cause in the past to make many trips between LA and SLC, I learned early on that whatever extra it cost not to lay over in Las Vegas, it was worth it. Sadly I don't think there's a simple hack like that for Spirit, which seems determined to hand RyanAir its beer. But what a memorable New Year, eh?
Years ago while I was busking on the street in Ann Arbor, an older woman interrupted me in the middle of a song to hand me a cd, telling me she considers it her best work. It was her recently-finished album and she was shopping it around, hoping to catch the ear of some powerful record exec, and for some reason she thought handing it to a dumpy white guy on the street with an acoustic guitar and harmonica was an obvious stepping stone toward her goal.
The CD was in a plain white envelope, and she had scribbled “Allow My Soul To Sing My Song” on it with a dying fine-tipped marker, alongside some crude stars and rainbows. This woman was typical old Ann Arbor crunchy; basically an aging hippie from a wealthy upbringing with a touch of crazy.
The music is gloriously terrible; the kind of awful that you just want to sink into. Part folk music, part spoken word with off-key, warbly operatic singing, spacey synth lines and weird guitar solos, performed with all the sincerity and self-assuredness in the world. It’s truly beautiful how horrendous it is and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who has heard it.
I’ve thought about uploading it to YouTube, because it deserves to be shared, to take on a life of its own. I think about her occasionally and wonder if she’s still alive, but I don’t think the CD even had her name on it, so I have no way to look her up.
If calling Newark Airport a "silly place" is a Holy Grail reference, good on you!
Thanks to this I have looked up the awful barmy song I was introduced to at a sleepover when I was 17, and discovered that it was not only on YouTube but my memory of it, untouched for over 20 years, is astonishingly precise. Strange how these things sear themselves into your psyche ...
Having had cause in the past to make many trips between LA and SLC, I learned early on that whatever extra it cost not to lay over in Las Vegas, it was worth it. Sadly I don't think there's a simple hack like that for Spirit, which seems determined to hand RyanAir its beer. But what a memorable New Year, eh?