I love music. Too bad Sid Vicious was right, 99.5% of it is shit. The word radio means shit in Dope City. Only the little commie station in the East End and the underpowered university stations are ever worth listening to when you can pick them up and your listening schedule is synchronized with one of their better music programmes.
Today I was reminded just what music does for me that makes me like it so much even though I cannot play anything with more strings than a hockey stick. Music makes me happy.
I played Cedell Davis' "Feel Like Doin' Something Wrong" cd this morning after Sonja joined the rest of the busy, busy world at work. Then I played it a couple more times so loud I could not hear the airplanes flying over my house. Fat Possum is Davis' label. I cannot read the printing inside the cd because it is too small. But I gather he frets his guitar with a butter knife because of some medical problems he had as a child. The motherfucker is the Rick Hansen of the electric guitar.
I do not have the computer skills to toss songs onto this space or I would. But I bet Ed over at the Old Blue Bus will share a song or two of this fine fellow's once he has heard him, if he has not already.
Rock on Cedell. I am glad I heard you while you are still alive.