RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Wednesday, January 26

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown – December ’10 #5: “Marie” by The Family Band

I live in an older house that has less financial value than my land does, and did so even before the fake housing bubble was exposed as a fraudulent Fonzie scheme. There are holes and leaks and things that lean against other things and this or that what which should probably be fixed, but in the process of fixing this one thing ultimately this other thing should be taken care of, and what it leads to is a generally patched-together wonderful little home for me and my wife and our three daughters. The youngest still nurses at age 3, as that is how we roll, and has to come down to our bed – meaning me and my wife – at various points in the middle of the night. So we have a baby monitor still, which is on now, as it is night time. It is also freezing rain outside, and you can hear it through the baby monitor pattering on the tin roof, because the baby’s bed is by a front window that looks out over our front porch’s roof, so there’s “patter patter patter patter” going on right now, and occasionally something electronic will change somewhere in the house and there will be a little bit of feedback through the monitor as well. (We also have been hearing some sort of phantom crumpling of paper upstairs as well at night, which has been strange as fuck. Like it just sounds like somebody sitting there and constantly crumpling paper right in front of the baby monitor. But none of the kids upstairs wake up, and there’s no scatty signs of tiny critters anywhere up there either.)
I enjoy living in an old house with a strange family, and it is cold, hence the frozen rain, which is supposed to turn to snow and pile up on the roads tomorrow. Our woodpile is small so I called our wood guy, who usually doesn’t answer his cell phone, so I leave messages saying, “Bring me a load of wood” and he does and I leave the money in envelopes inside a truck parked alongside the road near his dad’s house. But he answered the phone today, being I haven’t been able to split the wood I’ve got by the pig pen due to my partially crippled nature of the past two weeks from slipping in the ice last time we had weather like this, and he was like, “Alright mane, I’ll get by there tomarra or the next day.” And I was like, “I’ll slip the money in…” and he cut me off and said, “I ain’t worried ‘bout it mane… I ain’t worried ‘bout that at all.”
My woodstove is quiet right now, no pops or crackles, which means I probably need to throw some wood on it. The two big black lab/hound dogs we have are sleeping curled up together on the living room, and usually I can tell how cold it is by how close to the woodstove they curl up. It’s probably about 42 degrees right now, because they are sleeping by the green couch.
I think it is because I live a life like this that “Marie” by The Family Band seems so great to me. I found this song on The Fader blog, which I stalk like an ex-girlfriend on Facebook, at some point when I was trying to see if anything they tagged as “psych folk” was actually worth a fuck. Turns out most of it was not. Except this. And I can say this with complete confidence because I am living a psych folk lifestyle, fully.
STEAL “Marie”
It’s still an Odd Future!

No comments: