joe_henry PeeT plays a 1930 gibson. 120514 ... raze i've always felt bad for joe. i think he writes some good lyrics, but i can't get into his music. it's his voice. it reminds me too much of someone i knew once who was such an unrepentant dick he made me want to stuff cotton swabs soaked in mayonnaise up his nose until his eyes rolled back in his head and he saw god. every bit of unjustified ego and double-dealing and artifice that lived in him was alive in the sound of his voice. even his vibrato was a put-on. it isn't joe's fault. it's just the way his voice was built. but he sounds a lot like that guy, and i can't forgive him for it. check out these lyrics, though: "i saw willie mays at a scottsdale home depot, looking at garage door springs at the far end of the 14th row. his wife stood there beside him. she was quiet, and they both were proud. i gave them room, but was close enough that i heard him when he said out loud: 'this was my country. this was my song, somewhere in the middle there, though it started badly and it's ending wrong. this was my country — this frightful and this angry land. but it's my right, if the worst of it might still somehow make me a better man.' the sun is unforgiving, and there's nobody would choose this town, but we've squandered so much of our goodwill that there's nowhere else will have us now. we push in line at the picture show for cool air and a chance to see a vision of ourselves portrayed as younger and braver and humble and free. this was our country. this was our song, somewhere in the middle there, though it started badly and it's ending wrong. this was our country, this frightful and this angry land, but it's my right if the worst of it might still somehow make me a better man. i've started something i can't finish. and i barely leave the house, it's true. i keep a wrap on my sores and joints, but i guess i've had my blessings too. i've got my mother's pretty feet, and a factory keeps my house in shade. my children, they've both been paroled, and we get by on the peace we've made. i feel safe so far from heaven, from towers and their ocean views. from here i see the future coming across what soon will be beaches too. but that was him. i'm almost sure. the greatest centerfielder of all time. stooped by the burden of endless dreams — his, and yours, and mine. he hooked each spring beneath his feet. he leaned over. then he stood upright, testing each against his weight for one that had some play and some fight. he's just like us, i want to tell him. and our needs are small enough. something to slow a heavy door. something to help us raise one up. this was my country. this was my song, somewhere in the middle there, though it started badly and it's ending wrong. this was god's country — this frightful and this angry land. but if it's his will, the worst of it might still somehow make me a better man. if it's his will, the worst of it might still somehow make me a better man." that's some good shit no matter how you sing it. 211206 what's it to you? who go blather from