Hi and welcome to madisonmusicblog!
Here’s a link to my recording of “John Barleycorn” which will be included on my new album called “Pass On The Love” which I plan on releasing in April. It will be in CD format only and will be available at my web site. Hope you’ll want to get a copy!
So here’s page 2 of Road Trip
I felt kinda outa place. The juke box was playing some old used Elvis Presley record taking me back to the Saturday night dances, when I in my greased down “duck’s ass” haircut cranked out Chuck Berry tunes on my Gibson Melody Maker with Johnny and The Crescendos. But right now, my appearance caused heads to turn and chuckling began, barely heard, maybe about me and maybe not, but it was there. Yet I walked on through the crowd, found a stool and simply told the waitress – “coffee please.” It’s starchy viscosity entered my system harshly, but got lost in the merging of my cigarette smoke. The one last vestige of security I had. It felt good, it felt really good and it really mattered. It was now quiet and that felt good also; like those mornings on Indian Lake when I sat alone drinking coffee before leaving for classes – the morning gray drifting away to make room for the sun. A fly crawled across the rim of my cup. I placed a dime on the counter and found myself on the grass outside the depot smoking again and watching the vapor rise from the exhaust of the bus. It billowed up and around the huge grumbling beast. I wondered if it smoked for the same reasons I did. CAUTION: CIGARETTE SMOKING MAY BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH. A remarkably vague statement, I thought, yet very popular in extreme rightist circle. All John Birchers had given up smoking and I had to wonder why the Nazis smoked.
Tomorrow would land me at my destination – guitar and duffle bag in hand – I would wander strange new streets searching for someone who could tell me where it’s at or where it’s happening. Maybe I would get my chance to be something. Maybe my songs would get the respect they deserve and then some. I had heard – “Montreal, man, things are happening there!”
They were all getting back on the bus going somewhere. I watched them and thought of how all the Jews were herded on box cars to be burned. Their faces must have looked very much like the faces of these people; like my face even. I joined them, found my seat and prepared to get stuffy and dank again. The doors closed, the motor accelerated and the bus started to move. My eyes were glued to the flashing “EAT” sign, my head throbbed, I started to sweat, grew nauseous and wanted to sleep. The streets of the town were gray, silent and bare, lost and alone. They passed quickly out of my life; through the street lights, past the small park with its symmetrical benches, past the neo Greek town hall, past the silent cars, past the silent homes of those who lived there. Soon the black mountainous shapes appeared against the horizon enhancing the night. It was the endless night before the dawn of creation. The roads wound and wound and wound through the mountains. Sleep came and I was one of forty, riding on somewhere. I dreamt of moving hands, moving faces, moving voices and vibrating guitar strings. I was on my own. I was alone. I was free!