Binging the magic

Listen to this post:

The stream giveth, and the stream taketh away. I recently discovered the TV show Nashville, which had its first run from 2012 to 2018, just in time to also discover that it was leaving Netflix after Monday, Sept. 14.

I finished Season 4 on Sunday night, and I had run out of time to binge Seasons 5 and 6 in their entirety, so I looked at the IMDb ratings and found the top-rated episodes from the final two seasons. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that most of my Monday was devoted to catching eight or nine 42-minute stories including, of course, the series finale.

I am clearly a sucker for stories about writing songs and trying to make a life making music. They built a pile of endearing and not-so-endearing characters and tossed them in a room together. Even though I’ve now seen the best of those last two seasons, I expect I’ll revisit those seasons and all of Nashville when the stream decides to give it back, someday.

Watching all that songwriting magic gave me the itch to pick up my own guitars and see what comes out. But first I need to turn off the television and get some sleep.

We must keep on singing

Listen to this post:

A generation of baby-boomer entertainers has been leaving their earthly vessels in recent years — Dolly Parton, Jaye P. Morgan and Tim Curry all left the other day.

We must brace ourselves as so many other giants like Dolly age — we all know who I mean — and when they go, it will be another series of body blows to our collective psyche. My generation produced some great songwriters and unforgettable songs — no brag, just fact.

Willie, Bob, Paul and Ringo, Mick and Keith, Joni, Judy, Paul and Art, Carole, James — and others I’ve forgotten at this moment — Their recordings are their legacy, and we will always have the recordings, Lord willing, to remember them and carry on.

We live in a wonderful world that feels a little heavier today, because Dolly lifted us all up and she isn’t there anymore. I guess it’s up to us to keep that light shining.

Still not done

Listen to this post:

Six months after Carol Jean crossed to the next plane of existence, I felt a surge of emotion — grief, yes; anger, no, more frustration; determination, yes; and hope.

I poured it all into a poem that proclaimed I had sustained the worst body blow a man can take and emerged shaken, but not defeated. The emotion felt so stark that I took a selfie and drained all of the color from the picture as I shared the poem.

I’m not done.
I still have things to say.
I don’t know what they are,
And I don’t know how I’ll say them,
But sure as I feel, I feel that
I’m not done.

I’m still here.
I didn’t want to lose you,
And I’m not the same without you,
But there has to be a reason
I’m still here.

Let’s find out
What those things I have to say are
And the reason to go on is.
Let’s find out.

Not long afterward, I set the poem to music, and when I recorded the song for my first album in 15 years, New Dog Old Tricks, I added two things—a sixties-style “psychedelic” passage in the middle, and a different opening and closing line when I reprised the first verse: “God’s not done.”

I don’t think any creative people are done until their earthly vessel finally gives out. Oh, and have I mentioned my belief that all of us are creative people?

And our influence doesn’t necessarily end then, either. How many of us have found an old card or letter — or a bit of arts and crafts — from a lost loved one and been moved all over again?

If you’ve checked out the latest album by Willie Nelson, Paul McCartney, or Bob Dylan, you know that it’s true. When I was a little kid, I wrote a silly song called “Never Say Die Until You’re Dead.” Pretty good advice for a little kid.

If you think you’re too old, or your time has passed, or opportunity is lost, think again. You’re not done, either.