Honky Tonk Blues

Note to self: 3:30 a.m. is not an appropriate weekday in-time for an adult. And Breyer’s strawberry ice cream with a Gatorade chaser is not an acceptable preemptive hangover cure.

I’m just in from The Smith Family show at Hank’s in BK. Not the easiest commute: car service to gig ($40), cab back to Union Square ($15), NR to 57th, walk, walk, walk. Still, good times. We’re sounding better and better. And having more and more fun. The music is pure, and honest, and more melancholy than I could ever dream of being. I laugh a lot harder at Smith Family shows than mine, which is the whole idea with a side project. Come to think of it, it’s the whole idea.

And Hank’s jukebox is top notch. I dropped multiple iTune coupons on Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Replacements, Rolling Stones, Zeppelin. And Maker’s Mark. Sweet, poisonous Maker’s Mark.

Hank’s is just down the street from the studio at which I spent September 14-17, 2001, recording a benefit CD. I visited the same ATM on the corner of Fourth & Atlantic that I visited so many times so long ago. Producer Duke Rashkow and I took breaks from re-recording an acoustic version of the single for the CD I was just about to release, the poorly-timed ‘Crash Site’, smoking cigarettes on his roof. To the west were the still-smoldering Twin Towers. Above us, empty air space. Being in the same neighborhood again brought it all back home, and reminded me to appreciate my busy but beautiful life.

Right now, my busy but beautiful life mandates some down time. I need a day off like the flowers need the rain. I need detox like Scott Weilend (well, not quite). A good sweat lodge. Maybe a colonic. Some Epsom salts for my lower g.i. Whatever. A break. A day off. A moment of absolute silence. In the air conditioning. With sushi. And some cheesy Hollywood blockbuster on DVD.

First, though, I need to sleep off The Country. Sweet dreams.

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