Search Results
7/15/2025, 8:46:32 PM
Hearing Voices edition
6/22/2025, 8:07:32 PM
Man… somethin’ just ain’t clickin’ in these hands today, dig?
I scooped up my Gibson ES-175, gave her a little nod like, “Come on, baby, let’s dance,” and spun Afro Blue from Coltrane’s Live in Seattle. Soon as that needle dropped, the room lit up like Harlem after dark—Trane blowin’ fierce, blastin’ notes like he’s reachin’ for God’s own ear… and Pharoah Sanders? Lawd, that cat was losin’ his mind. Blowin’ like a man possessed, squawkin’, screamin’, honkin’ like a wild man loose on Lenox Avenue after too much midnight gin. Total chaos—but beautiful, dig?
I tried to ride that wave, fingers slidin’ on the frets, huntin’ for that fire… but nah, baby. No heat in these mitts today. My licks came out dry as last week’s cornbread. Stiff. Cold. Like tryin’ to make love with no soul.
Trane and Pharoah were up there in the stratosphere, burnin’ the sky down... and me? I was stuck in the basement, chasin’ ghosts and shadows.
Wasn’t the Gibson’s fault—nah, she’s still sweet as sugar. It’s me. No Coltrane spirit in these hands today.
I let that last note hang thin in the air, like the last drag on a tired cigarette. Some days you swing hard and catch fire. Other days, baby? You swing wild and miss the whole damn train.
I scooped up my Gibson ES-175, gave her a little nod like, “Come on, baby, let’s dance,” and spun Afro Blue from Coltrane’s Live in Seattle. Soon as that needle dropped, the room lit up like Harlem after dark—Trane blowin’ fierce, blastin’ notes like he’s reachin’ for God’s own ear… and Pharoah Sanders? Lawd, that cat was losin’ his mind. Blowin’ like a man possessed, squawkin’, screamin’, honkin’ like a wild man loose on Lenox Avenue after too much midnight gin. Total chaos—but beautiful, dig?
I tried to ride that wave, fingers slidin’ on the frets, huntin’ for that fire… but nah, baby. No heat in these mitts today. My licks came out dry as last week’s cornbread. Stiff. Cold. Like tryin’ to make love with no soul.
Trane and Pharoah were up there in the stratosphere, burnin’ the sky down... and me? I was stuck in the basement, chasin’ ghosts and shadows.
Wasn’t the Gibson’s fault—nah, she’s still sweet as sugar. It’s me. No Coltrane spirit in these hands today.
I let that last note hang thin in the air, like the last drag on a tired cigarette. Some days you swing hard and catch fire. Other days, baby? You swing wild and miss the whole damn train.
Page 1