Kevin Midgley: Home
Cost of the War in Iraq
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Dunno how you got here, but you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, twice. Since you are here you might as well take your shoes off and relax. Coffee's still hot, whiskey is over the fridge and there's beer and wine in the hallway until the end of the night. A river of snakes rattles and shakes, shines and hisses beneath a veiled moon. The trees turn their leaves and their faces and the devil´s paddlewheel slips past the papermill, leaving snakeblood and venom in its wake. A gangway made of the bleached bones of Cumberland county's finest departed unfolds and the Reverend Strong Waters and the Devil With No Tail, abandon ship, surrounded by the writhing moonlit river vipers, to take their music to the unsuspecting. Don´t forget the Rev. Strong Waters, and yes, that´s right, his oblique proselytizing. In his formative years Kevin brought the Rev. fresh eggs and various beverages, in exchange for his wisdom and unshaken faith in music. Strong Waters was well aware that dope and macrame were not enough to cure the ills of the disillusioned activists of the 60´s. He believed that music, the secret music of electrons, of insects, and of humans was a path out of ignorance and darkness, to an area less ignorant and only partly cloudy. No revelation is made without obscuring its source. Dolores the Snapping Turtle and Zeke, the Reconstituted Farmer. A dozen white doves that refused to fly and an almost empty half gallon of Kentucky jet fuel. Tito Puente, Palm Sunday, a violet corduroy sports coat. Son House´s church on the hill, a beautiful cloud, the lottery ticket that lost by one number, a snowball in a freezer in August, a business card from a prostitute. Giant 50 foot tall bluesmen drink incredible shrinking beverage! Strong Waters and The Devil (with no tail!) appear on the bun of a veggie burger. Meter readers turn into stacks of quarters. Lies have become truth, liars kings. Above the streetlights: moths, bats, airplanes, the milky way. Time doesn´t stand still; it stands on the ledge of a building. The blues is dead! Long live the blues.
Radio Days - November 18, 2008
I will be playing live on WMPG twice this week for those of you with radios or computers with streaming capabilities. Around 6 PM Weds. Nov. 19 I will be on the Evening Sun Show with Myron Samuels. Myron will assist on harmonica, and grill me about what periodicals I read and give me a pop geography quiz. Second show will be Friday Nov. 21st in the AM on Chris Darling's Us Folk. Scheduled lift off will be 8:40 AM. Rumor has it that Chris serves fresh pastries and champagne to guests. I'll bring my ice bucket. On your FM dial WMPG is at 90.9 or 104.1 FM. Go to WMPG.org to listen in over the web.
Last Church on the Left - November 12, 2008
This is a house party event with two bands: Poor Valley Salvation Society and the Small Orchestra. Seating is limited, so you may want to bring some portable chairs. BYOB and $5.00 to go toward the band stylist and Nieman-Marcus stage clothes. Check out Poor Valley's myspace and host Jay York's website. Used to live in the now empty basement of the church. Allyson and I were unemployed most of the summer. The Belair broke down. Nothing like a vacant lot in Portland in the summer. We lived off of pasta salad and Gordon's gin, watched the sun set over the junkyard and Back Bay. The neighbors were a trip. Showtime 8:00 PM Saturday, Nov. 22.
Midsummer - July 28, 2008
The Small Orchestra took stage for the second time in its fabled career in front of a small, but enthusiastic, and damp crowd at Yarmouth's Clam Festival. (If you don't know the Clam Festival you will have to look elsewhere for coverage.) The fact that there were farm animals in attendance only adds to the evening's charm. A grueling one hour set of music involving fierce drumming, flaming harmonicas, and the emotional breakdown of Mr. Midgley were left undocumented by the mainstream media. The Small Orchestra's band strategist vowed that the band would return after yet another management shake up. While some members of the band bowed out early thereby safely negotiating a road block, others opted not to go home at all. Thus, along with members of the Mutineers, who wish to remain unidentified, the remaining musicians practiced the beverage equivalent of what the lumber industry calls clear cutting. Many songs were sung, much sleep lost. The moon came out from behind the clouds even as things got cloudy. Amen