Friday morning and I’m cranking ZZ top, Tres Hombres on my turntable. Roxy Music Country Life in line right behind, followed by Stevie Wonder! And, I suppose the first thought that comes to mind for me when I consider armband is turntable turned up to concert blast, stacked black speakers requiring dolly’s to position, LIVE, meaning for-real, you are hair-on-end here at the venue whether Red Rocks, Park West, Saltair, Salt Palace, the Zephyr, DV8, Tacoma Dome, the Showbox, Skanderborg to see a show, to hear a band, to expand in some warped-web of sound-art spun by tall boot wearing, leather pants dancing, feathers and eye liners, hats too cool for school, dropped out super stars, free spirits, birds and bears, panther-led not state owned!
Sometime, next morning after the head stops banging, the coffee gone, a shower, the armstrip still hangs tightly on, you search the pencil drawer looking for the scissors to cut off the band, back to work Monday, last day to mow the lawn.
Jesus left Chicago and now he’s bound for New Orleans! Dead’s and steal-your-face quit the lease, the grocery gig for the fluorescence of armband freedoms, had lot-kids and skinny dogs and after Jerry died there were serious discussions, hushed and spiritual in nature, who was to be followed in this jam band vanned utopia, Widespread or Phish?
Photo is mine, snapped in a club in Baltimore.
