Buying old records, or a cd in this case, is like turning over rocks looking for cool bugs and shit when you were little. Other day I found a musician I newly admire on whose cd I have found a song which fulfilled my boyhood need to discover freaky bugs - a new favourite song. The artist is Amy Honey. The song, which I think she wrote, the cd liner notes are far from complete, is called "Shady Pines Campground."
Oh how I love
This time of day
When the sun goes down
And everything is gold
Oh how I love
Sitting in this chair
Got myself a drink
See myself there
Shady Pines Campground
How I wish I could be
Sitting 'neath the shady pines
Living carefree
Oh how I love
To pack up the van
Throw in the kids
And a couple of dogs
Drive out to the Shady Pines
Sit in my chair
Look up at the stars
I love being there
Shady Pines Campground
How I wish I could be
Sitting 'neath the shady pines
Living carefree
Shady Pines Campground
How I wish I was there
Sitting 'neath the shady pines
Without a care
Ain't a one of you hillybilly motherfuckers who read my crap whose life would not be improved, whose lot would not be enriched, whose Anarchist spirit would not be sparked by Amy Honey and this red neck white country heat white Canadian light sing around the campfire song of hers. Rest of the record is pretty fucking good too. Kind of, sort of country, with a just enough flourishes of rusty metal garbage can guitar to remind you all you might be getting old but you are not dead yet. Not by a fucking longshot.
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