Friday, March 19, 2010

Jamey Johnson. 'Nuff said (well, not really)


For over a year now I've been trying to figure out a way to see Jamey Johnson play before he moves out of the smaller venues and into the realm of super star and super speedway shows that I will never go to see. Who knows? Maybe his brand of old time twang isn't what the masses want but it was sure one satisfying experience for my husband and me when we finally got to see Jamey play last night at the Norva. My God what a show.

There was no fancy dancing, no jumping around, no histrionics or gymnastics. Jamey and his band walked on stage and they played. They played for about three hours.

Most of us have been to shows where the singer comes on stage and performs poorly. I always hold a bit of my expectation in reserve because I'm afraid my ticket money would have been better spent on an Itunes download and a bottle of wine but last night? Magic. Jamey Johnson's voice is like a shot of ground glass chased with honey. He put on a show that quickly made it my top one favorite concert ever.

My husband was along for the ride, not really expecting to get into it he bought me supper and ferried beers but by the time Jamey sang his big hit, In Color and told us that the part of the show we had paid for was over, Mark was just as mesmerized as I was.

From there on out there were a few originals and many old country and rock covers. Straight, Jones, Bob Seger, Tom T Hall...We were singing along, riding it out on a wave of beer and adrenaline and memories spurred up by the songs. In the end, the audience was sadly flaccid and couldn't manage enough energy for an encore which was the only sour note in the whole show.

*Image thanks to google images and the Washington Post

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No NAIS!

Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

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