The road to Memphis
Swampy swamperson and the swampettes traveling north from New Orleans through Mississipi to my destination of Memphis. Ghosts are everywhere alongside diesel trucks and dilapidated shacks selling po' boys. It's dirty down here and I like it a lot. The roads are in bad shape and look at that guy chugging a paper bag clad tall boy at 7 in the morning. Probably still rolling from the night before. He's got a nasty scar over his left eye a dirty white Tshirt with holes in it. He's got a long scraggly beard that would fill any Williamsburg hipster with envy. But we have miles to go before we get to Memphis town aka the place with mattresses in the middle of roads. The land where rocknroll sprouted its infant head and stuck out its middle finger to the world. I fucking love the south. Tonight I play an early show at The Hi-Tone Cafe at 7 pm. Oh deary don't be late I wanna be there when that band starts playin'.
Last night we rocked The 12 Bar in New Orleans along with Dash Rip Rock and The Fleshtones. It was gay. It was supreme. It was delicious. It was glorious. It didn't matter that it was a Monday night. The people came out and the people spoke and responded with love. It didn't matter that it was Andrew Pressman's first night playing bass with me. It was sweet.
Come to Memphis tonight. The Hi-Tone Cafe 7pm