The chronicles of Ruin, continued.
Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do.
Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here.
10 September 2009 22:59
Ain't it funny how time slips away.....? I couldn't help but think that this was the only shot in his locker, although enough, in itself, to repel all boarders. This version, lacking that syncopated, modal, highwire walking of the studio version, battered and subdued by that awful lap slide guitar which was all over these Transatlantic Sessions like snot on Gordon's tie, is haunting and beguiling for all that. Old age and infirmity came early to John Martin, as if, almost wilfully, he gave Mr Death a complimentary ticket and before you knew it, they took him to the graveyard but they didn't bring him back.
I missed that one, Mr Ishmael. Magnificent hippy stuff. May you never make your bed out in the cold.
Nor you, mr mongoose.
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