How bout something new for a change. Hooked all over again. That hollow body echoes, loud and moaning, back to the edge and back. Dizzy. The words meaning things, not just holding hands or lonesome. The gentlemen Kerowax. The blood rythym section, completely knowing the other. In all, 16 strings, wahwhas, pedals, skin, and tin. Amplified to a perfect mix. That's how you do it folks! Sincere birthday greetings, no countdown or home shopping network. Each song finding the others, harmonized, the drummer slamming, the bassist mopping.
The old, flambouyant hippies were gone by then. Never miss the headliner. The audience was whipped, the kegs were cleared and foaming. No ice was left in the food truck. Coke should be free. The Alaskan Smokey beer, compliments of the band, hit right. Whisky rocks, trips to the alleyways. Angles must be seen, the scene absorbed.
These Denton streets are still dark, they seek music, they want to be walked. They want to sway.