John Vanderslice's "New Zealand Pines" is the very first song I ever mentioned here. It's an interesting choice for a first, and I'm glad I made it.
I wake on this hot and humid Saturday morning, and sit up so that I can see myself in the long mirror which leans against my dusty bedroom wall. I look tired and weak. I look like myself. My hair is an orange mess. I make something of it. I think of shaving it all off.
In the living room, the iMod is silently turning. It's been up all night. I raise the volume on the Trends amplifier, and hear his voice. It sounds good. He's singing something about Golden Gate Park. I sit on the orange couch and listen. What else is there to do?
John Vanderslice's "New Zealand Pines" is the very first song I ever mentioned here, I think to myself. It's an interesting choice for a first, and I'm glad I made it.
It sounds good, but it sounds nothing like it did then.
Of that, I'm sure. The song ends, perfectly, with that last period
Of that, I'm sure. The song ends, perfectly, with that last period
