Live For Guitar and Drums...

And goosebumps. 

Lyrics, and voices, screamed, crooned and desperate...barely spoken.  That one riff, that has been played before, and again and again.  Revisited and remade.  Reworked, respected and ripped off.

I find beauty in those chills.  Solidarity in those gasps for air from the meaningful and the (seemingly) meaningless.

I sing (yelling, somewhat in tune) barely muted into my bathroom mirror.  Funny faces that I know Rolling Stone and NME would love....

Finally realizing that, people sing for me. 

I am somewhat satisfied.

Little Sammy Was a Punk Rocker...

"Just because you're better than me
Doesn't mean I'm lazy
Just because you're going forwards
Doesn't mean I'm going backwards"

Billy Bragg sang tonight at City Winery.  And I listened.  He spoke, with conviction and intellect.  He moved me.  Inspired me.  Tapped me on the shoulder, before slapping me in the face, to remind me what it means to have a guitar and a voice.  Everything.

My Favorite Songs...Part 3

Chill inducing.  Every time.  Billy Bragg, a one man army, fighting only with an unsteady voice and a guitar...

A New England

(On a side note I am pretty sure that when I got a massage today on 6th at one of those cheap Asian joints, they had an Asian instrumental version of "There is Power In the Union.")

It kinda fucked with my relaxation.

An Enraged Public...

Legislative reform.  Women had to die...literally burn in the The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory.  In the end look who got off.

There is power in a union...