I have no idea where it came from but all of a sudden I just want to listen to Cold Roses and only Cold Roses, and this is inconvenient because it’s a serious release week and I have approximately 912 pieces that are due and anchored on records that are coming out tomorrow. Still: Cold Roses.
I came home from Austin tonight, dropped my bags by the door, lit candles because the place smelled musty and dusted off my guitar, which is shamefully neglected and wedged between my bed and bookshelf. I fucked around with GarageBand for a minute and played through “Let It Ride” until I hit the bridge because I can never sing that part right. I worried about pissing off my neighbors, but who cares at 8:30pm on a Monday? Hit record, sent it to Stevie and now all I want to do is head up to Boston and make a record with my guy friends for a month where we just screw around in Steve’s apartment in Salem and cover the Spencer Davis Trio and sometimes I sing Ryan Adams songs because for whatever reason his stuff sits perfectly in my range. I want to write songs about my Somerville rooftop and what happened during that massive blizzard two Februaries ago and Silver Fox Stowell and I want to do so with my favorite humans while swilling probably-too-warm ‘Gansetts. I want to play dress up on that side of the mic for a minute.
I won’t. In the meantime, Cold Roses and swapping notes with best friends is enough.