Thanks, Memphis; Keep The Change

[Rhoda]

I wouldn't mind being a blues musician. Maybe I defy everything a blues musician stands for while I sink in my seat on the bus, expensive shoes wrapped loosely around my feet and headphones perched lovingly on my head. I think Duke Ellington would suffer from a prolapse upon casting eyes on me. I don't have a top hat or driving gloves to compliment my image; try a black wool hat with a hole peeking out of the top.

 

However, that isn't to say I don't understand them. Blues musicians I mean. I haven't gone through much of the anguish and suffering you seem to need as a requisite. It's not something I'd consider putting on a resume. Imagine me turning up to Johnny Cash's house back in the 1990's, guitar slung across my back and jeans stonewashed beyond any shade of blue? There would be laughter, not tears. That would all be very well, but having been only 13 when the Cash man died, I didn't stand much of a chance any way you look at things.

 

The trouble with riding on a bus during daytime hours is the amount of elderly people who forget where they're going. I'm not ignorant, because these people lived through golden ages of music. What annoys me is how they think the world owes them a favour, as if they've fought their whole lives for equality and a society free of oppression. For one thing sister, that's never going to happen, and for another, we'd all like the same thing; that doesn't mean things will get easier. If I've learned one life lesson in 19 years it's that dreams don't come true if too many people chase it.

One more thing that sort of pickles my wick about old people is how their level of generalization outweighs that of the young and the fruitful. How many times do you think an elderly woman looks at a teenager like me with headphones the size of two small cars looming over my line of sight and thinks I'm going to stab her with a home-made spear? So many times it's boring, let me tell you. I wish I could stand up behind some of them eager to get off at their stop and shout "I've got Miles Davies on you fucking idiot".

 

There I go again. Everytime I'm carried away on a cloud, the harsh bell brings me back down to Earth, and I'm forced to watch as someone waddles down the aisle carrying her shopping. Don't tell me I'm not forced, because I'm hardly going to look around me and pretend to be interested in an advertisement about male infertility. I might be interested in the blues but give me some credit, that's the only source of pleasure for some single men.

 

Like a lizard will never see the Arctic breeze, or like the desert sand will never see the root of a plentiful fruit tree, I'll never see the true mood behind a lot of this music I admire. Rather than kick out some "banging tunes", I'm much more content listening to jazz, classical and bluegrass, every pluck of a banjo string identified. Every gentle rap on a tubular bell. Every clasp, cover and strain of a brass section in an orchestra. It's this veil I hide behind. To you, I'm just another ignorant teenager that lives with his parents and does nothing but sit around and drink out-of-date beer. Already I'm so much more than you'll ever be in life or in death. That's my choice, and your mistake.

[VercettiTheNiter]

I really like this. The narration and the imagery really compliment each other. I just have one gripe: There needs to be more!

 

 

[Xeon]

An interesting piece that contains some nice musings. I can definitely relate to the few lines about the elderly and their instant judgements and generalisations.

 

The grammar and spelling were flawless and it made for an interesting read. Good work.

[Lochie_old]

Boo the Blues.

 

You're writing some interesting sh*t lately, warming up for the return of Ghost I assume?