OfThemAllVille
The real America, where Americans really live, is a big, wide, loud, mean-streeted, good-hearted, sloppy drums kind of a place where things can go really, really well or, on a dime, go really, really bad.
And I mean that in the best possible Kerouacian in the Nebraska Diner in the Railroad Earth kind of way.
And, for me at least, The Felice Brothers embody all of that.
Musically, I mean....
Or.
Put another way, the Felice's and friends are like a weird, barely literate, yet extremely profound, fusion of The Band and the Rolling Thunder Review.
Except.
It's like Dylan is inside the thing rather than out front of it.
Anyway.
Here's what those kids made this old man and his Wackadoodle go and do last Saturday afternoon while no one was lookin'....
_______
And, just in case you've got a hankering to listen to more of this kind of stuff, or a little of my kid's stuff, or a Sunday story or three, they are archived here....
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3 comments:
Brightened my morning. Stumbled on the Felice Brothers a year or two ago and consider Frankie's Gun a near-perfect song. (Could't listen to your song, sadly. The USB Internet stick just can't handle streaming content.)
No need to listen to my song.
You can listen/watch the real thing, here.
And, ya, Frankie's Gun may just be the perfect song.
.
Hey.
Wait a second...
I smell instrument bias here.
After all, brother Jimmy plays one hell of an accordian in Frankie's Gun.
I demand a recount!
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