Dearest Bobby Bare Jr.,
Damn you for making music that taps my predilections. Running the alt-country gambit from rock n’ roll to folk to country, then throwing in some pop? Are ya trying to keep me from my studies? Plus singing in that endearing and creeping voice of yours? That’s just not playing fair. Fine, I acquiesce. Laptop aside, feet propped on desk, listening, sighing, smiling.
Your pals from MMJ and your old man are culpable too, buddy.
On Nashville: “I saw Elvis make out with Jesus in a yellow limousine.” Of course you did.
A Storm - A Tree - My Mother's Head
On breakups: “I climbed the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, but I forgot I’m afraid of heights. One of us has got to go.” Allegorical truths.
On livestock: “Your goat is on fire.” ?
Don’t worry, darlin’, you’re not the only one being cursed for making affecting music. Dylan LeBlanc is about to get a letter regarding If time was for wasting. But, I’ll save that story for next time (see September Playlist of debauchery and delight).
Yours truly,
E
A Side of Sundries 