The Blues

I was driving back to the island from Bangor thinking I wanted to hear some music, but remembered my only option was radio - old fashioned car-radio, local stations - bad local stations, ugh.  I switched it on anyway, pressed scan and kind of forgot about it for awhile, not hearing anything appealing.  

Forgot about it until . . . huh?  Allman Brothers?  Whoa - oh, yes.  That's what I'm talkin' about -

- Statesboro Blues.  (click)

I sang along loudly and animatedly, despite driving.  Great song.  Forever a great song.  I think so anyway. 

Gregg Allman

When the song ended I just turned the radio off before some typical local radio inane-ness ruined the experience.  I thought how perfect and timely Statesboro Blues was for me because I, in fact, have the blues.  Perhaps the song gave me an excuse to justify my own funk, and it certainly helped me embrace it, and I won't deny it:  it's the End-of-Summer August Blues.  

Pablo Picasso

Melancholy Woman

1902

I love summer and miss it when it is gone. 

And winter in Maine won't be denied.  It is powerful - endless days, weeks, and months of solitary, cold winter darkenss (waa-waa-waa) . . . time for Whipping Post.   (click)