The Limits of Neil
Some of you have met Chris, the guitarist/keyboardist of the Long Beds. He lays down the majority of our twang, despite the fact that his musical background is not so much country. I attribute this to his general openness and omnivorous intellect. Pretty much whatever y’got, he can play it or appreciate it.
Turns out he has his limits. We were at a gathering of mutual friends discussing the joy of playing old vinyl records. I started ticking through what I’ve been spinning on my grandma’s old console stereo recently: Waylon Jennings, Herb Alpert, Frank Sinatra, Charlie Rich, Neil Diamond…
At Herb Alpert his eyebrows bounced, but still he nodded along. Until I mentioned Neil. At which point his face screwed up like he just got a bad piece of brie.
I sang him a few heartfelt bars:
And the radio played like a carnival tune
As we lay in our bed in the other room
Peered deep into his eyes, now:
When we gave it away for the sake of a dream
In a penny arcade, if you know what I mean
Up a notch, and from the heart:
…If y’know what I mean, babe, if y’know what I mean.
Now he looked like someone hawked a loogie in his flan.
Imagine: Living life impervious to Neil…
Can you hear it, babe?
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