Wednesday, January 14, 2009

skipping and skipping and skipping

If you are gonna go John Denver, you gotta get Rocky Mountain High (lala). It might be a case of wanting something to work conceptually, but there is a sweetness that only John Denver has, and its one that Will Oldham and the Phosphorescent guy from last week and a slew of even more obvious folk-mystic types strive for and fall short. John Denver is the wide-eyed innocence I remember of the early 70's, having been a little kid at the time, largely unaware of Nixon and Vietnam. John Denver is innocence forced. I think of being stoked over the Bicentennial, The Six Million Dollar Man and Star Wars. It would be interesting (to me anyway) to map the memory of the time over the actual tumultuous history with John Denver's choral celebrations of nature as the translation layer between them. When I look at that cover, I picture John Denver skipping a rock on that stream and it keeps skipping and skipping until it disappears around the bend, and he turns to you (you are suddenly aware that you are standing ankle deep in the same water) and grins "Come on! Let's follow it!" and you go sloshing through the water after him and it. Maybe I should have proposed this record for a 33 1/3 book.

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