Wednesday, September 05, 2012
My "Reagan" moment
But after a few featured segments an advert comes on. The track is easy; a mildly reverbed I pedal point with 5-6-b7 and backwards riff on a Strat. The very heart of rock, that which Jagger and Richards lauched themselves into immortality with a fuzz boxed "Satisfaction" in '64.
I'm sitting there listening to the advert. I know the VOICE, I know the riff, I know the era, I know everything about the world inwhich that tune lived at the height of its popularity.
I can't, even now as I've struggled to solve this so inconsequential question, remember the group's name, the song's title.....I can't "place it."
For an analyst, AKA, anal retentive organizer, this is no small collapse; it's monumental. No herbal nor medicinal regimin will alter the course with any assurance that decline can be delayed.
I suppose this is that moment I've anticipated nearly all my life: when my wits fail me. Wits, don't fail me now!
Sorry, guy. Spit happens. (Spit is at least somewhat arbitrary, the other is required.)
I'm thinking: was that Freddie Mercury? Some great American rock tenor I can't place. I don't know. I can't place it.
This is the old reality/new reality of me.