Monday morning. For me, it’s not like the start of the week. Just another day in a continuum that is more a straight line than circular. At least, that’s how I usually view it. Today, it feels like the start of a week. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m in full work mode or just that I’m a little tired this cool morning. Whatever the case, I find myself at a loss for meaningful words. So instead of agonizing for any appreciable time searching within, I’ll simply depend on someone else for meaningful words.
Here’s a song from Jimi Hendrix, May This Be Love which most people know as Waterfalls. Don’t want to even talk about it this morning, just give a listen. Nice stuff…
Saying the word Woodstock only means one thing to most people. Three days in August that came to be a symbol of an era.
I can only imagine what an 18 year old kid today thinks when he hears the word Woodstock. For today’s youth hearing someone talk about being at Woodstock would be like a kid in 1969 hearing their grandparents talk about something that happened in 1929. It would seem like ancient history.
But Woodstock still has mythic appeal. The musicians and performances were legendary, many like Jimi Hendrix’s Star Spangled Banner becoming cultural touchstones. The sensation it caused in the media and throughout the country was huge and subsequent festivals to this day aspire for the effect that Woodstock produced, always coming up short.
I was too young for Woodstock, being only ten at the time. But I remember the weekend and the news reports of the thruway being closed. It really struck later when the film came out and for Christmas my brother got a new 8-track player (cutting edge at the time!) with the Woodstock soundtrack. Christmas day was filled with Country Joe screaming Give me an F! and my mother yelling at my brother to turn it off. I must’ve listened to those big, clunky tapes a thousand times.
I don’t think they’ll ever replicate the way everything seemed to come together at Woodstock. It’s almost like a piece of art in its entirety. It could only be produced by that perfect blend of participants and the perfect moment. A synchronicity of time and events.
It’s easy to make too much of something like Woodstock but for today I’ll just think about how the music from those three days still reverberate today.
It was hard to pick out something, one performance, that could singularly define this event . There were so many. So I went with this because every time I hear it vivid memories of those times pop up for me. Here the aforementioned Country Joe McDonald singing his I Feel Like I’m Fixing to Die Rag.
Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past?
–Jimi Hendrix
That’s a line from the Jimi Hendrix song The Wind Cries Mary. It’s one of my favorite songs from Hendrix and is a delicate quiet song with a ghostly quality that I think fits Hendrix’s existence in this world. It’s both strong yet fragile. On this quiet morning, before the world is fully stirring in a fury of spring activity, I thought this song would fit the moment.
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Contest Reminder!
I’m asking for your help in naming this painting and am offering a prize (it’s better than you think though it doesn’t involve air travel or posh resorts) for the title that I deem fitting for the piece.
So put on your thinking caps and let me know your title for this painting. Even if it’s not chosen as the final name, your title will be included on the painting’s reverse side for all of eternity. Well, for an extended period of time. I’m just not so sure about eternity.
So, submit your title by simply commenting or email me at info@gcmyers.com
Monday morning. For me, it’s not like the start of the week. Just another day in a continuum that is more a straight line than circular. At least, that’s how I usually view it. Today, it feels like the start of a week. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m in full work mode or just that I’m a little tired this cool morning. Whatever the case, I find myself at a loss for meaningful words. So instead of agonizing for any appreciable time searching within, I’ll simply depend on someone else for meaningful words.
Redtree Times 