Road Report – Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ

 I’ve got a bottle of Rose – Let’s try it.

In Asbury Park the line between reality and myth is hazy. Just ask Hazy Davey, or the guy who might be Hazy Davey, except for that was never his nickname, and the guy who actually is Hazy Davey is actually in Virginia, and doesn’t seem to have been present at the moment the song in question was actually being inspired. Unless he was, but who knows? There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of people here who were definitely part of moments that loom large-ish in the Springsteen corner of the American story/mythology. A lot of warm hearts and really cool, fun people. I’m happy to meet and hang with them all. There’s a long road ahead (and a thin white line, I think you heard that before) and lots to learn and disabuse and so on, but I’m in for the long haul and happy to be here, and can only thank the long suffering family (and publishers) for letting me take the ride.

What else is going on? I don’t even know anymore, and at this point I’m happy not to know. Checking the headlines this am it was all breathless and bad and full of scandal and ill-intentions. D. Patterson, the Republican memo, the spinning of Patterson and the Republican memo. The important thing to remember is that everyone’s evil and has wicked intent, and Christ, how has it all come to this?

I prefer to turn my mind to Hazy Davey and co, and to that mythical night out at Greasy Lake. Which also has a literal address and description, it turns out, along with a very distinct incident. Word is it was a long night, and dark, and someone threw some mud and Davey got hit in the head with a rock, and was pissed, but the Mission Man and Janey were long gone, in the pines, possibly making love in the dirt. I dunno, it could all be nonsense. But it’s so much more interesting to contemplate. And right or wrong, myth or reality, you’ve got this great ass-kicking tune that tells a story everyone’s experienced for real in some way, shape of fashion. I’ve known a Hazy Davey or two. I’ve been Hazy Davey once of twice. Not recently, but I still like to think of those times. And it’s those feelings that matter to me, more than anything. The rhythm and the groove and the feeling of release. It felt just right. Together we moved like spirits in the night.