Meeting and talking with Butch Hancock between sets at the French Grocer in Marathon, I eventually solicited his creative advice. He took it from there. It's really an overall thing he said, the tone of the song must be it's own. Townes Van Zandt once told him he could use any word and any word could mean anything. His main encouragement, emphasized and repeated to me, was to remain open and aware, perceive the world, capture this instant. He once wrote a tune by creating one line a day, easist one he ever did, let it come to you, he said.
Viva Big Bend was winding down, Butch was doing a Sunday nooner show in Marathon. His son, Roy, accompanied brilliantly with clean and unique stratocaster, it was groovy, it was the red cherry on top of this regional musical experience. I spent the two previous days and nights in Marfa attending shows, recording a bootleg project, and riding my bike around the entire town. Several sources had warned me of the aggressive traffic enforcement and I'd already been tailed earlier in the week by the local fuzz as I drove north to the Prada store beyond Valentine. The decked out Suburban followed me close for 3 miles, tight on my ass, then backed off, did an illegal U-Turn, and headed back south.
The weekend shows at Planet Marfa and the Lost Horse were one big delicious musical blur. The Texas Tycoons, El Combo Oscuro, and The Watters were my favorite acts, in that order, but nobody was better than Butch in Marathon, he sang 'em easy come, easy go, set 'em up, let 'em flow. After his performance, I checked into the famous and luxurious Gage Hotel to rejuvenate. The pool was cold, the fried quail wings were scrumptious, the courtyard gardens were lush, and the room got dark dark. Woke from a 4 hour cat nap at midnight, missing the Sunday night finale at Railroad Blues in Alpine, my time was up, I missed my gals, I missed my dogs, I missed home.