I've been a-go-go-going though a big Buddy Miles kick (drum) lately. Who can't relate to "Well, my mind is goin' through them changes" ? - I ask you all knowingly without a hint of concern, cause change just broadens the range, y'all. Amen.
So the Buddy love is hot and heavy right now, and I'm ready to lay my bets that if he and Billy Preston had ever engaged in a full fathom afro-turf war, my man Buddy would have emerged victorious. It's an easier and quicker ambush to pick up, aim and javelin-toss a coupla drum sticks than it is a Hammond B3. I know this from experience.
Years back, I can remember my Dad mentioning he had jammed with Buddy after Monterey. Here Bruce was go-fishin' with major musical history, and all I probably asked him was "do you have any eights and why was your solo album so weird?" Regrets. Regrets.
So here comes vintage Circus to pick up my disrespectful slack. Shit man, feel-good from the Circus magazine? Who would have thunk it? To me Circus will always be Creem Magazine's stupid, horny, jerking off-in-the-backyard tree house younger brother. I close my eyes and just see glossy Circus centerfolds of Maiden, Priest, Crue, and somehow the images just instantly, and as if on cue, morph into a 14 year old with bad skin and a paper route. And I love it. Nuture your inner 14 year metal kid. He is a do-gooder. He fights off those times you find yourself about to toe tap to Yanni at the dentist office.
Anyway, so in the above issue of Circus came some deets I liked to read. I needed to read.
Cool. I'm pretty sure the uber-jam was LSD fuelled. Playing for 14 hours straight? Correction on the straight part. Playing for 14 hours wired and high as fuck. Cool.
Today at work I was staccato headbanging to my dearest Jaco (GENIUS) and a straight co-worker said, "Erin, your parents must have done some serious drugs".
Yeah. The male parental. But he jammed with Buddy Miles.
Life's little trade-offs.
Currently listening to: Fleet Foxes, S/T
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