Sunday, May 31, 2015


This door photo did not make the cut.

Sunday is rain and that one CD. You know the one. The whole album is a serenade. And couch and pillow and blanket. It's a little work, a little family. A big announcement and Little Bird and Sweetie. It's breakfast of biscuits and sausage and eggs and grits and butter and Mrs. Blackburn's syrup. It's a hike when you think I want to laugh.

Oh no. Never mind. I know how that goes. I'm usually the brunt of that joke.

So I call her and she tells me about Ms. Grannie, and wa la Ms. Grannie is funny.

Today I am grateful for a story, to hear a friend laugh, to laugh. For rain and thunder and breakfast and couch and pillow. I am grateful for the blueberries and the nuts. I am grateful for the muted light and how I can tell myself, It's okay. You don't have to pick up your camera everyday.



Keep it in the bag.

Photos here.

On Ken Flynt's photo LP sent this: It's the door of the motel room in which country-rock musician Gram Parsons died of an alcohol-morphine overdose outside his favorite Joshua Tree National Park in 1973. Parsons and Chris Hillman had left The Byrds and founded The Flying Burrito Brothers. Parsons was a romantic pair with Emmy Lou Harris and made many recordings with her. After his body was discovered, friends stole the body and took it to the desert at Joshua Tree where they attempted to burn it - in accordance with Parson's wishes. All that resulted was a flash fire and some charred remains.


Anonymous said...

Like the vocals on this.

Shea Goff said...

This was interesting. First, I never listen to a song for vocals. My first listen is about the instruments but then this time I was telling myself to no, cue in on the vocals. That's what anonymous said. White trash. No, that's the lyrics.

Then I heard his voice.
Strong, experienced, tough and I realize how many assumptions I make simply through what someone sounds like. He, to me, represents Clint Eastwood and Paul Newman and Robert Redford and Tom Berenger.

So thank you for that.

Today this song came up but it is more than vocals. This song is a long bus ride to Chicago. Kelly Joe and his guitar serenaded me as I watched both time and place pass through a window.

I loved that trip.

Anonymous said...

Damn, my favorite actors.

Shea Goff said...

Mine, too. They are my Dad to me.

Anonymous said...

Stumbled through several of his videos, this one seemed to grab me. Or at least his voice did, kinda like a six inch bowie in a red wing boot.

Shea Goff said...

Ah yes, his lyrics. Everything. "And down a muddy slippery grade." (reminds me of red clay banks I climbed as a child and then later at Sipsey Wilderness. "To the fever pitch savannah where grand daddy lay." I can hardly keep my mind straight with the way he picks that guitar and there is relief from the words. I never heard an artist I so connected with. I'm okay that many of his lyrics sound like dialogue between him and a good friend. He sings a code I'll never break, and his hands and fingers and slide and his voice are all a lullaby to me.

I've seen him live twice. Once in West Palm Beach and next in Memphis at a church. He was much more comfortable at the church than he was at the bar. But in both places I was all, "Ohmygosh. Stay calm, crazy. Sit in your seat like the normal people. Clap when they do. No, don't go talk to him. He'll realize how much you love him, and you'll scare him away." (though in West Palm Beach I did ask him how much it would cost to play a private party at Como Courtyard. $2,500 his manager said and Kelly Joe was shaking his head, but I really did think that one day I could at least gather enough aluminum cans together and make it happen. What I understood that night is that Kelly Joe with his code was an incredibly private person. Shy and introverted and the thing that I most loved about his music happened when he was all alone or just with really close friends.

Then I loved him more so I have all of his CDs, but until tonight I haven't listened to him in a while. So thank you again.