Along the North Carolina boarder there are some of the most beautiful roads and country you could ever wish for. There are people who are friendly and hospitable, people who are in no way like their "Deliverance" counterparts are portrayed on the screen; the person who wrote that book was a massive racist and hater of all things southern. When you awake in the Great Smokey Mountains there's a slight haze surrounding the bottom quarter of those beautiful hills that waft through the valleys, the pines and flowing rivers that meander their way out towards the great Atlantic.
From this land comes a musical tradition that dates back before The Carter Family, towards bluegrass roots where the only entrainment was each other, a guitar and a banjo. "East Virginia Blues" has encompassed my mind since my friend sent it to me a week ago. It boggles and enlightens in the most visceral way. Written by said Carter Family it encompasses such beautiful songs that are credited to "Traditional" such as "Rosa Lee McFall", "Dark Hollow" and "Going Down the Road Feeling Bad" all driven into the lexicon by the Dead, Dylan and the great traditional songwriters and performers that have made musical history.
I've seen The Black Crowes multiple times, seen them together, with Jimmy Page and all the other iterations they have been over the years. They never disappoint, they are the quintessential Rock and Roll band that were born of this great land and sing out into the ether of the muddy river that is American music.
So as I sit here listening to this song over and over I am reminded of this great land, the people that make it as such and more so after a visit to my friend who sent me this tune in Nashville how I strapped into the old Porsche and made my way towards the Tail of the Dragon in those beautiful mountains, where for eleven miles there are 316 turns on the precipice of disaster, in the rain and ice I drove through the blackness not knowing where the next turn would lead me; dreaming of some dark haired maiden living in the shack I just blew by waiting for her escape from the hills and towards greener pastures. How she and I would build our lives on the solidity that was formed by time engaged in such a land that carved those hills and how perfect it would all turn out in the end. Just as the clarity of those Martin extra light strings resonated through the cherry wood of the Taylor that was being played in the background as I thought of such things, I saw her as an apparition before me.
In the end I would traverse through that land without finding her and continue through the darkness alone with only a slide solo for companionship and a whining Chris Robinson voice to keep me company. Maybe it is better that way, maybe in the end it is better to never have one's dreams realized and to keep searching for that carrot dangled before one's eyes. It keeps you hard, it keeps you on your toes. But for now sitting here with some old time-home grown whiskey delivered by a southern friend in my veins and a solid dip of Copenhagen in my lip while watching Gerry Lopez mastering Pipe, well, it is about all you can ask for outside of that maiden laying her head in my lap while I take it all in during the late hours of the night while the city pulses through its own veins around me.
