As part of what promises to be one of the most catastrophically intoxicated weekends of my life, I’m venturing up north to attend the Saturday wedding of my guitar life partner. We’ve been playing together for 15 years, which makes us both ancient (kids born after we played our first gig, at the Varsity campfire site, might even be reading by now) and standoffish (in our unwillingness-slash-inability to pull lesser musicians/mortals into the fold).
Given the high emotion and low behavior sure to follow, I’m jumping the gun on FReedy FRiday and dedicating this week’s selection - Dolores, which has lyrics that should resonate with fans of a certain wonderful non-pervo piece of literature - to the groom-to-be. It’s a live version that dispenses with the original’s ’90s production sheen. My fair guitar partner *hates* it.
Yes, we’ll be performing at the big event. An analogy? Us:Portsmouth Hilton :: Kix:The Iowa State Fair. Yeah. Bring your cuticle scissors and a generous amount of gauze.
Buy Dolores, or at least the crappier verson of it, here.
