Isn't Gram Parsons brilliant? I love his cover of Wild Horses, done with The Flying Burrito Brothers. I'm listening to it as I write this. I love his other stuff too, especially his solo albums "GP" and "Grievous Angel."
"I watched you suffer a dull aching pain, now you decided to show me the same" -Jagger/Richards
My wife and I drove across the country once, a handful of years ago, soon to be more. We started in Venice Beach, California and drove on through to New York's Manhattan, taking about two weeks to get there. As we had plenty of time to cross we decided to stop and see some of what there was to see along the way. We were in a blue 1993 Volvo, and we were very much in love. On the first day we only made it to Joshua Tree National Monument. It was only a few days after the 30th anniversary of the death of Parsons. Is it appropriate to call such a thing an anniversary? I dunno.
"No sweeping exits or off stage lines, could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind" -Ibid
In any event, we stopped at the Joshua Tree Inn. As we checked in the woman at the front desk told us that they had just suffered the "30th anniversary" along with all of the people that come to revere this "dead drug addict." They had performances at the local theater where people could trot out their artsy esteem for the perennially perished. She was clearly sick of it all. The room that he died in happened to be open and available for the night.
Sure, we said, why not? What harm could come?
A few minutes later I was opening the door to a sacred room in rock history. There were posters on the wall, various rock concert art and psychedelic imaging... even a reproduction of the legendary show at Altamont that was documented in "Gimme Shelter," regarding The Rolling Stones, of which The Flying Burrito Brothers opened the show, along with a few other bands, Jefferson Starship among them.
We got undressed and listened to some country music. The only thing we had on was the radio. There was a sort of registry next to the bed where people could make privately known their reminisces of Gram, the man. Some chose to only add their names, dates, yet others drawings to represent their graphic fondness for him, others still to write long passages of confused nonsense and mystified eyewash. We scrolled to the back pages of that humble volume, I sat and thought for a moment...
"What we wouldn't do for a gram right now... - Sean and Rachel, Oct. 2003"
This wine was unremarkable for the price, $18. Its primary distinction is that I drank it in just under 30 minutes. It hardly held up as a cross-country story for you. Beyond that, I wouldn't let my maids drink this wash.
Also, when you make the name "Wild Horses" singular it sounds like "wild whores", a name that a wine must at least attempt to live up to. This wine was like accidentally bedding a dysfunctional bag lady with soft hazel eyes, watching the sun come up together while washing in the park fountain. No, I suppose it is not like that at all... It is more like bedding a perfectly normal girl only to find out that she has problems that you don't really care about.
What the hell kind of description is that for a wine? Hold on, I'll get one...
Here we go... I found this wine to be toweringly noiseless, predictably "jammy", etc.
"Wild horses, couldn't drag me away, wild wild horses couldn't drag me away" - Ibid
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