I wouldn't say "bi-polar." I'd say manic and not. I'm not the depressive type, but sometimes, after I stoke the engine, get fired up, expend my energy on some task, or event, or performance, or just in the day to day concentrating my time on the average normalcies, during a "normal" day, I can crash.
When I crash, I like to park myself on our couch, put music on our big, old-time, stereo system, put my dark glasses on, and let the sound waves wash over me. Yesterday I pulled out a classic record from 2001, the Drive-By Truckers' "Southern Rock Opera." It was recorded in September 2000. I just randomly put it on yesterday, but it was recorded almost exactly 18 years ago to the day. A September album. A go-to record.
It's sort of a loosely-based, concept album. The concept? Life in the American South. The Truckers are led by two of our greatest singer-songwriters (great guitar-players too), Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley. I love both of them. Two amazing, strong, and very distinctive American voices. Yes, for sure, listen to the whole album, 2 cds. It's fabulous. One of the great records, no doubt.
Here are the lyrics to Cooley's "Zip City." I know it's probably an overstatement, but I dare say, if Wm. Faulkner had been a rock & roller, he'd be envious of these uncommonly beautiful & superbly evocative lyrics.
“Cooley wrote this one and should be the one explaining it. I do know that it is at least 90% true and is my personal favorite song on the album.” – Patterson Hood
ZIP CITY
"Your daddy was mad as hell he is mad at me and you
When he tied that chain to the front of my car
Pulled me out of that ditch that we slid into
Don't know what his problem is why he keeps sending me away
Don't know why I put up with this shit
When you don't put out and Zip City's so far away
Your daddy is a deacon down at the Salem Church of Christ
And he makes good money
As long as Reynolds wrap keeps everything wrapped up tight
Your mama's as good a wife and mama as she can be
And your sister's puttin' that sweet stuff on everybody in town but me
Your brother was the first-born, got ten fingers and ten toes
And it's a damn good thing
'Cause he needs all twenty to keep the closet door closed
Maybe it's the twenty-six mile drive
From Zip City to Colbert Heights keeps my mind clean
Gets me through the night maybe you're just a destination
A place for me to go a way to keep from having to deal
With my seventeen-year-old mind all alone
Keep your drawers on, girl, it ain't worth the fight
By the time you drop them I'll be gone
You'll be right where they fall the rest of your life
You say you're tired of me taking you for granted
Waiting' up till the last minute to call you up and see what you want to do
But you're only fifteen, girl, you ain't got no secretary
And 'For granted' is a mighty big word for a country girl like you
I know it's just your daddy talking, 'cause he knows
That blood red carpet at the Salem Church of Christ
Ain't gonna ever see no wedding between me and you
Zip City, it's a good thing that they built a wall around you
Zip up to Tennessee zip right down to Alabama
I got 350 heads on a 305 engine, I get ten miles to the gallon
I ain't got no good intentions" - M. Cooley