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Relayted, Gayngs

JAG165, May 11, 2010

Track Listing: 1. The Gaudy Side of Town, 2.  The Walker, 3. Cry,
4. No Sweat, 5. False Bottom, 6. The Beatdown, 7. Crystal Rope, 8. Spanish Platinum, 9.  Faded High, 10. Ride, 11. The Last Prom on Earth

The light show dazzles—solid gold (did someone turn the channel to Solid Gold?) particles bounce off the few sunrays that have managed to escape from the gray gathering clouds. The movement is facilitated by a breeze and from soundwaves coming from the room’s Denon speakers. The music is vaguely familiar, coming in like an echo from the past. Listen. Listen to the echoes. They bring good tidings. Invitations.

Wanna get away?

Anywhere, answers the boy to nobody in particular. But soon, as these things often go, anywhere turns into somewhere. This time, thoughts of a farm. Fun in the sun, slingshots and forever fields, endless paths of exploration, giggly games of hide-and-seek. He is a big shot again, back behind the wheel of a John Deere, guiding the mighty vessel from the perch of Grandpa’s lap. He sees the farm animals now too—cows, chickens, and pigs, and of course his favorite, an English Bulldog named Charlie who had the run of the place. He also remembers the cats that lived outside in the barn and under the porch. It was always so exciting to be the one to find a new kitten so you could be responsible for naming it.

“And we were on a cloud”

-fromNo Sweat

In a mellow pose of perfect contentment, the boy’s current cat Jonesy licks her striped fur clean. Unlike the boy, the cat has no intention of going anywhere, not that she has much say in the matter. On cue, the wind—no longer content to be pigeonholed into a role of lazy summer breeze—picks up considerably, announcing a changing of the guard while tossing the curtains into a mini voodoo dance.

“There’s a dust storm approaching
And everything will change”

-fromThe Walker

A secret place exists. The boy knows it. His cat may know it too. The lure and thrill of an instant escape isn’t exactly a revelation. But that doesn’t make the chance at discovery (or rediscovery) any less profound.

Without further ado. . . .

A Hammond B2 chops through the stalks of corn along Old Plank Road. The cows and trees and country sky hold steady against the intrusion, indifferent to the car with the souped-up engine and retro tunage. If they are suspicious at all of the lime green ’75 Chevy Nova that is cruising north towards Ladd or Cherry, they certainly aren’t showing it.

“Baby, I’m on my way”

-fromThe Walker

Behind the curtains, there are others. They may be drifting back now, all the way back to a yesterday long ago. Back, back …

That’s a fly ball, deep to left, back, back  … HEY-HEY! He did it! Ernie Banks got number 500!

The invitation stands.

Wanna get away?

Something tells me he’s already gone.