Weaving a Spell

I stopped by Mickey Watson's trailer out at the Cozy Corner yesterday evening. He was sitting on the couch, listening to Bob Dylan's new bootleg record and watching the nightly news with the sound turned down, a perfect backdrop for Dylan. Everything is broken, and all that. The songs rolled by, and we sat there in wonder as ol' Bob conjured images and moods that took us to places we sort of recognized but weren't sure quite where they were. "Ol' Bob sure has a knack for stringing words together," Mickey said. "He surely does," I replied. Mickey is the singer and rhythm guitarist for The Cedar Creek Boys, a local band who can't decide whether they want to play bluegrass, country, or the blues. So they just mashed it all up together. Mickey and I both write songs, and we often talk about the mystery of it all. Like how a song can sometimes pour out in fifteen minutes, while others might stumble around for weeks and never take flight. We didn't say much as we listened to Dylan sing tunes such as "Tell Ol' Bill," "Born in Time," and "Marchin' to the City," just sat there engulfed in the spells Bob was weaving. And for me, that's the ultimate goal for a songwriter. Take me out of my boring, familiar world for three or four minutes. Take me somewhere strange and menacing. Or some place beautiful and exciting. As Bob sang, "Once I had pretty girl, she did me wrong. Now I'm marchin' to the city, and the road ain't long," I could feel the beat-up suitcase in my hand and see the dust coming up from my boots as I plodded down a dirt road. There's a gleaming city in the distance. Is it heaven or Memphis? It doesn't matter, because it sure ain't Lonesome Pines.

Hey, y'all. Mick Flanagan here. I'm sitting here with my first cup of coffee, trying to clear the cobwebs out of my head from last night. The Cedar Creek Boys played a couple of dynamite sets at the Starlight, and I even climbed onstage for the encore. We played Dylan's "Political World." Bobby Lee and Big Sugar were in the crowd, and they howled when I sang, "Life is in mirrors, death disappears up the steps into the nearest bank." Kind of appropriate for the times, huh? We had a good time last night, but I'm getting ahead of myself. This is my first blog from Lonesome Pines. My friend, Bobby Lee Vanderhall, encouraged me to do this. "You like to write songs and poems and stuff," he said. "It'll be fun." I told him I'd give it a try, so here we go. I'll keep y'all up-to-date on the goings on in Lonesome Pines. It's a quiet little town, but for some reason, crazy things happen around here. Check in often, and you'll see what I mean.