de.celebrated

most rock stars walk the memory back to the days when every concert was hard pressed and hard won, when they knew personally every groupie and went afterpartying with the club, fresh cuts on their lips they themselves had opened. when gigs were dive bars, audiences unpredictable if not hostile, and pay came in the form of an open tab. when a station wagon full of amps needed a jump. simple luxuries on the road. a bitter loaf of bread. one after one night stand. a pan full of eggs and bacon. walls dressed in hard wood. the percolating coffee pot to happy, ringing ears. crazy laughter and rolling eyes.  what just happened and did it, really? most rock stars dream of such beginnings. wishing they could cut their teeth on it again but no. alas, another sold out show. play the hits, play the hits! otherwise you risk sounding like you lost your edge. don’t break us in on new material, god, please don’t make us suffer so… they do. somewhere, under the belly of the rainbow disappeared, through the gold-plated bars of today’s high hung song bird cage. awash in stale hits. buried in mountains of paperwork. feeding the hungry custody of ex-wives. studying the tax codes. dining with didbits and divorce lawyers. oh, how a dream can turn back on itself.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s