The Only Real Magic...

We, the geezers who occasionally back my oldest kid, have not played much of late.

Mostly because our cymbal and the drum pounder had his bass pedal foot surgically reinforced with titanium a few months ago.

But last week we got together and, for all kinds of reasons, they let me wail away vocally on a couple of Tom Petty songs.

And I've got to say...

Having that 18 year-old feeling come rushing back in, if only for a few caterwauling minutes, was one helluva gift to be given on the eve of my 58th birthday.

Anyway...

The next day I received an Email from a very different drummer who powered the garage band that the earlier version of my 18 year-old kid sang along with occasionally all those years ago.

And that once much younger beat-keeper reminded me that it was that first Heartbreakers album that finally got us off the Zeppelin and moved us towards more straightforward things that, in the end, were a whole lot more fun to plow through way back in 1977.

All of which is just another way of saying that the magic is in the doing, now matter how, when, where or with whom.

The following was recorded, pretty much trick-free, a few minutes ago together with the whackadoodle and her partner, the krazy santa hat kat, down in the subterranean homesick blues room (i.e. the basement):




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