"My home ain't in the hall of fame; you might go there, but you won't see my name.
And my songs don't belong on top 40 radio; I'll keep my old back 40 for my own."
And my songs don't belong on top 40 radio; I'll keep my old back 40 for my own."
Robert Earl Keen
Recently, my son-in-law introduced me to the music of Guy Clark. I'd heard the name before -- even knew that he wrote "Desperados Waiting for A Train," recorded by Jerry Jeff Walker -- but I'd never heard that voice until I borrowed a couple of CD's with Clark's own style of West Texas country/folk/cowboy/poet music. It can't be adequately described; it must be heard to be seen. "The Dark" is the title song from a 2002 album by the then-61-year-old Clark. Have a hear:
Guy doesn't talk through all of his songs, but when he does, you have to listen to this voice of age, wisdom, experience, and insight.
In one of the parables attributed to Jesus of Nazareth, it's a mistake to put new wine into an old wineskin; the fermentation process would burst the already stretched or brittle wineskin, destroying both the wine and the wineskin in the process. Maybe so, but old wine in old wineskins is vintage, the good stuff. Like Guy Clark's music.
Just listen once again to Clark's "Desperados Waiting For A Train," this version from Nancy Griffith and an all-star band led by none other than Guy Clark.
It can't get much more Americana and vintage than that.
Clark's songs tell stories. Those of us who grew up in the west have the privilege of understanding the power of the wide-open sky, the endless horizon, and the endless possibilities inherent in wide-open spaces, the fine line between a hero and an outlaw.
Listening to "The Dark," with its powerful imagery of it being "so dark the wind gets lost," and "too dark for goblins," and "so dark you can smell the moon;" the sounds of a house a night, the end or beginning of the day, depending on how you look at it, and the fact that some things can only be seen in the dark -- all set to simple instrumentation, with the voices reaching a crescendo shortly before the end of the song -- a song like that can help you breathe.
I may never write a song to match those of Guy Clark's; I have yet to hear one that doesn't make me smile, think, laugh, or cry -- sometimes all in the same song. Still, I can see the value in singing about simple, common things. Grandfathers and grandsons (now that I am one and have one). "This old bag of bones ain't really me." Youthful love and well-seasoned love. "The only difference between men and boys is the size of their feet and the price of their toys."
Recently, while my wife was working on an installation with her interior design company, I had some time to wander around downtown Charlottesville. There's a bridge that spans the railroad tracks near the downtown mall and performing arts Pavilion and, like the proverbial gold at the end of the rainbow, sits a Spudnuts Donut Shop. I hadn't seen such a shop since my childhood in Colorado in the 1960s; I had no idea they were still in existence. Donuts made with potato flour, a German idea. The company was formed in 1946 by a couple of brothers in Salt Lake City. Franchises were originally sold for $50 plus the cost of 100 sacks of flour. At one time, it was the largest doughnut franchise in the United States, with over 600 stores in the US and 170 in Japan. The parent company closed in 1980, leaving the individual franchises on their own. Currently, their are 35 stores in nine states using the name.
One of those is in Charlottesville.
I had to go in.
It was 1964 again, from the aromas to the faded sign outside. I hadn't seen a maple-covered donut since I was 10. I had to have one. And another. And a couple more. The coffee pot on the counter was it; no cappuccino maker, no fancy teas. Just regular coffee with cream and sugar. I had my iPad with me, so I took a seat in the corner and wrote down my observations. It was a Guy Clark moment for me; "Where Donut Dreams Come True" came together as a song about how it used to be and, at least in this one place, how it still was. A cross section of humanity came and went while I watched and munched. They say you can't go home again, and maybe they're right (although Mr. Clark might disagree), but for 3/4 of an hour, I got a glimpse and a taste.
In the television show, "Mad Men," there's a wonderful scene where ad-man (mad-man) Don Draper is doing a pitch to Kodak about something they called "the wheel" and something he dubbed "the carousel." Using Kodak's slide projector, he sells them on the idea that the carousel gives you the chance to take a ride to a place you can't return to -- the past. For me, the "mom and pop old donut shop where donut dreams come true" was such a ride. Old wine in an old wineskin.
