A couple of videos videos crossed my screen today that struck me powerfully, maybe in different ways, but for similar reasons. The first is a new teaser for Craig Rullman’s Len Babb Movie Project. I am most proud and honored to be contributing music to this work, and it’s my good buddy’s film, so, naturally, I respond to the content. But this one, featuring an aging and weathered … and wistful … Waddie Mitchell hit me in the feels in a way I can’t fully explain. Maybe you’ll feel it, too
The other is a music video from Billy Gibbons, one that evokes that vast desert to the east of my old hometown — where Kit Carson rode, the land Peg-Leg Smith stormed across with stolen Mexican horses, where a Yuma Indian split John Joel Glanton’s head down to the thrapple. Gibbons palavers with the ghosts of Jim Morrison and Gram Parsons. Long-time readers know that I am slightly haunted by the various demons of the old frontier City of Angels. This strums those mystic chords.
I guess various deserts are calling me, as I feel the barbed wire wrapping tighter and tighter around my little piece of ground. Things are changing fast here. Big money — I mean BIG money — has arrived hear and the housing market has gone berserk. The median home price here in Sisters is up something like 65% over this time last year. The culture is changing fast. A lot of things I ran out ahead of when I left L.A. have caught up with me. The Frontiersman’s Paradox is heavily in play.
I need a long vista, and a straight stretch of highway.