 I had a dream the other night. I wasn't in it, but it was like I was observing it. The scene was an old age home. The patients were gathered in a room, sitting on folding chairs. There was a younger man with a beard, sitting at the front of the room on a stool. He started strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Neil Young's song, "Tell Me Why." The old timers sang along. Sailing heart-ships
thru broken harbors
Out on the waves in the night
Still the searcher
must ride the dark horse
Racing alone in his fright.
Tell me why, tell me why When I woke up, I thought about the dream and wondered what the music in old age homes would be like in another twenty years when I'm no longer just observing. I pictured a crowd of old farts, leaning this way and that, some asleep, some hooked up to oxygen, some whispering to themselves, and half of them half crazy. Up in front there will be a middle aged woman at the piano, playing a wobbly, slowed down, "Black Magic Woman," striking every note as if with a hammer. I told Lynn what I was thinking and said, "Imagine 'Layla.'" She said, "They'll be playing screwed up air guitar." Other performances I'll probably pay good money to see: "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vita" performed on the accordion. A barbershop quartet of guys with wigs, bad chompers, and cardigans doing "Ramblin Man." They're already probably doing this one -- "A Walk On the Wild Side." I perceive it as a piece performed by a middle school chorus.
"Beast of Burden" with group hand clapping.
If we're lucky, they'll save "Us and Them" for when they hand out the meds. Everybody had to pay and pay
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14theditch's journal
