Saturday, September 26, 2009


Has anybody else ever thought that, if you had the chance to meet and s-t-s with Willie Nelson, as remote as that is, but that it's plausible, you could end up being pretty good friends?
I mean, he just reeks of guy's guy, mischief and herb. And the stories he could tell. That would curtail any friendship right there because I would just be awestruck, I mean Johnny, Waylon, Kris or Merle. Where would he start and when would it end?
As an artist though, Willie took years and years for me to warm up to. In the late 70s, If I paid attention to anything at all "Southern," it was more along the lines of the Atlanta Rhythm Section or Allmans. I was too sensitive and bummed over the Eagles errant crappyness or if Fleetwood Mac's inter-band shagging would not do them in.
I had lumped Willie Nelson in with that whole Jimmy Buffet like-party as art-don't give a rats fanny bout nuthin but margheritta's and weed-type of harmonica laced pirate/outlaw buffoonery.
I had no time for that barefoot feelgood crap.
But during the 80s and 90s, Willie was still playing those quirkey little scattershot leads on nylon strings that still sound a little dusty, a little lonely and with a hint of Tex-Mex.
At some point I finally latched on and I couldn't be happier he never left those sensibilities behind.

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