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

Nothing.

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?