Can’t Come In

Yesterday while mopping (aka playing Zamboni’s Space Hockey™ with dirty water in my kitchen) I listened to the Congos’ “Can’t Come In” at high volume; therapuetic.

At one pt they say “A rolling stone gathers no moss” –but it sounds like “gathers no mass” (2:31), doesn’t it? And rolling stones do gather moss—and mass—when they roll over a bunch of “stickymoss.” Sorry, this is where I’m at right now. (Also, fn1: In this paper I will argue that  NewVillager‘s vocalists cover two different types of reggae vocals: Ross is toasting, and Ben sounds like he’s been listening to the Congos.)

A new discovery, for the TBR file: Rebecca Solnit in the LRB:

  1. on Sandow Birk / “Hell in L.A.”
  2. on the Sierra Nevada / “Diary”

[and why not mention: one of the joys of reading old essays like this online is accidentally finding the deeply trivial letters to the editor that get appended:

Rebecca Solnit refers to ‘”Wanted Man”, which Bob Dylan wrote in 1969’ (LRB, 9 October). The song is generally credited to ‘Bob Dylan and John R. Cash’, and Johnny Cash’s performance makes clear enough how much he contributed to its composition. Perhaps more to the point, though, is the absence, in both the Knopf edition of Dylan’s lyrics and on several websites with Cash’s lyrics, of the line that Solnit quotes. I’d be interested to know what version she refers to.

Leon Lewis
Boone, North Carolina

Rebecca Solnit writes: I was quoting Nick Cave’s version of the song from memory.

] That’s going to be my catchphrase for the summer: “I was quoting Nick Cave’s version of the song from memory [vintage Mac beep]!”

Dan Weiss got his due from the Chronicle.

Brief moment of self-consciousness about “blogging” while still totally skronked from Friday’s disaster and simultaneous total skronkness at work. Whatever: It’s OK to blog in times of peace, in times of war. Blogging heals all wounds. Tom Scharpling’s dog died on Wednesday. This is what the internet is “all about.”

Hong Kong Bonkggg skronk.

Pilgrimage

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6 thoughts on “Can’t Come In

  1. Pingback: Can’t Come In

  2. rimpletide

    Did you get drunk tonight? I can’t imagine you did, (yet), it’s 6:21. What’s the knockout? Did I live with you or how come we smell the same? peas

    Reply
  3. quilty Post author

    do I sound like I’m drunk? The Knockout is where we went with Fred N. and Saddleshoos et al that night. We haven’t lived together since 1999 — or was it 1998? I smell obese.

    Reply
  4. danni biondanni

    So. You don’t have time to talk to me but you have time to blog?

    Kidding! It’s cool. I still love you. I mean, I barely know you.

    Also: funny that you mentioned Dan Weiss. Tonight I ran into Dog Eared and yelled “HEY DAN!” at a volume which would have been excessive in a normal bookstore situation. (What? I wanted to tell him congratulations for being born a Gemini and having a birthday yesterday.) But, in this particular situation, there happened to be a group of people sitting in a circle in the back of the store, while some writerly person read aloud to them.

    Now Dan hates me.

    It’s good to be home.

    Reply
  5. Pingback: Hot News » Memory Lyrics

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