Poems are beautiful. Each one is breaking
into its own cut like a rough but organized
set list. There is a way to play them. If you
have songs in your blood you will know
what I mean. The order is what drives you.
The left one down, the right one up. Pick a
finger the good song the next one. Beat,
beat, the open elbow drum clang jam clang
the pick strikes the cord vibrates tiny hot
words. Think think. So much like a bass
line, you’re a bassist. Hopefully you can also
sing. Gordon Sumner, Geddy Lee. One of
those famous dudes.
Are there women who like Geddy Lee’s
voice? I am not sure I know one. But there
are plenty of women who like Gordon
Sumner’s voice. Men too. I remember when
he sang with the Police. Roxanne, you don’t
have to put on the red light… And we would
sing too. Each one of us trying our level best
to get the same falsetto/Sting sound. That
one I heard a lot. You couldn’t go to skating
rinks, pep rallies, or the parking lot after
school, without someone humming it, or
playing it on their radio. It was just fantastic.
WE couldn’t get it out of our heads.