The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

They Were Collaborators #305


The Hollies

4 comments :

Donald J. Rickles said...

You know, getting old really sucks . . .

Tom Sutpen said...

Don't I know it!

Vanwall said...

"Old age. It's the only disease, Mr. Thompson, that you don't look forward to being cured of." Just to give you two a little to look forward to. HeHe!

swac said...

Funny, I was thinking of a Hollies entry while whizzing through Manchester by train last week...

I have a tape of Graham Nash inducting the Kinks into the RnR Hall of Fame...and he can't resist a bit of a jab, claiming that Northern bands were always better.

I also saw a new band called Ripchord (they're on MySpace somewhere) that reminded me of a cross between prime Hollies and Herman's Hermits, only louder and faster. Beats Oasis-esque posing anyday...