“What Has Davie Done?”

 

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-20)

Overnight.

For many years, my most productive time-of-day has been after sunset. As a teenager, I used to finish schoolwork at two or three o’clock in the morning. The pattern had been set by my father and grandfather, who were both restless spirits. Both glad for the comfort of coffee and a writing project, while the rest of our family slumbered away.

In recent weeks, I channeled this energy into prose poetry of a Beat-Era variety. Stream-of-consciousness stuff, tossed out with minimal forethought or editing. The kind of work I enjoyed in yonder years. While carrying my manual Royal KMM typewriter from one spot in New York to another.

As a writer, a childish sense of wonder has always been present. Something that makes me want to say “Look what I did!” whenever a particular vein of creative gold gets tapped. Not dissimilar to a kid showing off a crayon creation, scribbled across the pages of a coloring book.

I sent a couple of these manuscripts to friends from the Davie Allan group, on Yahoo! in a gesture of camaraderie. We had been out of touch for awhile. My expectation was that some sort of contact might rekindle our connection.

Davie himself praised this overture. Yet also made me pause with a mood of introspection.

“This is great but NO REVIEW for Linda’s album (my labor of love...).”

The response came as I was busy with household needs and the distracting force of neighbors who were eager to wring a last bit of celebration out of the summer. After reading this line of text, I faded into oblivion. Seeping Southern Comfort and fatigue. But those words continued to bounce around inside my skull, like the classic crash of a reverb tank.

“NO REVIEW...”

I felt like a student, again. Near to the deadline for an important paper. Alone, long after dark. Cramming for the grade. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Then came an epiphany of sorts, even before the first notes of ‘Neon Lights.’ A revelation like the moon rising high over lofty peaks:

What has Davie Done?

Ridin’ into town

Like a slick, hired six-gun

Chosen one

Just for fun

E A D G B E

Let us see

Got a glow inside

A river running deep

Session man with a plan

Overamped

Packaged and postage stamped

Special delivery

Through electricity

The voice of a maiden fair

Sister Golden Hair

And that old chaw of rawhide

New strings/old neck

Oh my heck

Dawn over the mountain crest

Veteran toneslinger put to the test

Never fear

The King of Fuzz is here

Neon Lights

Razzles, dazzles, detour delights

Roll out on the highway

Chrome choppers, 18-wheelers

A smoothed out Mercury with curb feelers

And dual exhausts

Who’s the boss?

California condor

Scriptwriters and scene-stealers

Roll on Rockers

We’re in a parade of headknockers

Shining bright

Shine for me

Guitar neck carved

From the old oak tree

Plugged-in

We’re gonna win

I got a feeling

Been in my heart for a thousand years

On the road

Jamming gears

Throwing spears

Arrows fly

And that sound will never die

Pluck. Pluck

Junior brought his pickup truck

Rolling, Rocking

On goes the procession

A vibe-snap, with the fuzzy one

Hey! Gonna play his guitar

Hey! Gonna be a Rock & Roll star

Been there first

Took the ride, got the T-shirt

Hearts a’flutter

Cylinders sputter

But the voice so smooth

Reaches up from within you

And the six strings sing

Sweetly, on-the-beatly

Jingle, jangle

James and John

The dream lives on

Lovely Linda and electric fire

Coming through the wire

Guitar hero like no other

Called him a friend, called him brother

From Fonda’s panhead in 1966

To the new-age sound of Pro Tools

We’re no fools

It takes an authentic vibe-snap

To make us come alive

So here we are

In this cowboy bar

With a Jazzmaster guitar

Pluck your Fender

It’s a mindbender

This trip on the strip

Ain’t no weekender

The desert is dusty

My steed is trusty

But those hot licks keep me quick

Fuzz King makes the big bell ring

Hammer down at the county fair

Riffs crackle through the air

Dip and slide

What a ride!

Keep tellin’ me

Keep on keepin’ on

Get out of your shell

Don’t keep it to yourself!

Gonna preach, this album is a peach

Take a bite

Loosey, goosey

Fruit so juicy

Savor the flavor

Of a songstress and her shaman

Of a leather longhair and his maiden

Fingers fly

Frets cry

Cradle rocking

This groove is talking

A language heard everywhere

Turned to ten

Tubes burning blue

Got my eye on you

Speed is the need

Yellow lines blur the street

One neck or two?

It’s all up to you

Silky voice, it’s your choice

Hipping, hopping

Finger popping

Join our convoy on the highway

This is Saturday night

Razzle dazzle

Be careful with the nozzle

Fill my tank with high-octane flames

From the axe of a master

A sound you’ve heard

Speakers swell with that clever crackle

Toneful, tuneful

Never felt so fun

Distortion and overdrive on a ride

Shot straight into the sun

Burning bright

Until this parade starts to fade

Listen to what I say!

Now is almost yesterday

Flip the disc

And we’ll slip back into

The Neon Lights

I finished my manuscript after four o’clock in the morning. Just like in high school.

Disability has kept me out of the saddle for a few years. My wheeled steed waiting for a future ride, my soul feeling a similar vibe. But with each new release from Davie Allan, I feel that familiar rush of wind at my desk. Road grime and grit in my teeth. A breath of freedom in my lungs.

A quiet confidence in all things Arrow-Dynamic.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024 

https://www.deezer.com/us/album/166548122

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7-IQFBMySY