Hardrocking Jonny G

Rev it up and go, cat, go!

Archive for May, 2010

Banshee Air

It came screaming up from Gila Monster land with the roar of the desert furnace, trees snapping like dogs at imaginary foes in the faceless relentless merciless maw of the dragon, grass cowered before its onslaught as whitecaps rode the puddles on the backs of leviathan.  Huge and gnashing of teeth, slobbery with desire to destroy all before it enslave all it met and break those who would refuse to bend.  For 12 hours I fought St. George’s dragon, Ahab’s ashen foe, that nameless thing at the bottom of the cellar stairs as it tore me limb from limb and disassembled my very molecules into atoms and quarks and little leftover bits of primordial matter streaking through time like infinitesimal krill fleeing the baleen-lined mouth of the giant sea-mammal.  Finally, I gave in and sank to the ground in abject misery at my failure, sent my plaintive cry for help across the ether and boarded the rescue ship as the monster continued tearing at the world around me like a kraken sent to humble Man before the Gods.  Bloody wind.


Teisco Del Rey

Red red red a Japanese lollipop on a fretted maple stick engraved flowers twining up the music like notes flowing from a diva, mother of toilet seat inset into neck to mark the way down the path of melody crunchy like crackers in bed, six string whammy bar madness throwing caution to the wind and Link Wray-gunning the straights into submission, sweet oriental chopstick of musical destruction and mayhem.  Plug it in rev it up and blast your way to the sun and sing the moon a song on the way by before you end up on the shores of Venus one fingerpicking note at a time. Gojira with a shoulder strap!

I’ve Looked Into the Abyss

Guitars and drums and microphones channeling the essence of the art from the soul to the ear releasing essences previously unknown even to the artist in charge, tuneful surrender releasing demons hitherto unsuspected from the Pandora’s box known as the subconscious.  Crack the lid and smoke the crack as the devil crawls out and hits you right upside the head with a meaning that only you can fully comprehend, but which you were blind to until it poured out of you like puke from a wino on skid row.  Anger, hurt, pain and suffering that you would have sworn were things of the past rear their ugly heads and by making themselves known allow you to hunt them down pow pow pow like ducks in the midway target game of the psyche.  I spit it out belted it to the stars and heard the echo of dying embers from a cold fire.  I looked into the abyss and when it looked back…it blinked.

Out of Town/Out of My Mind

Blazing west following the sun’s path over hill and dale through sun and snow and sun again to far reaches of the desert vista to roll wheels on thorny dirt and rock, two pals side by side riding like glory through the valley of death.  German tourists with precision attitudes hup hup hup through the dust as all others cringe before their teutonic majesty, bar band playing every song at 88% tempo, Bored Princess wishing it was her party, speaking when spoken to and pouting through fat lip as the band drones on and beer pours down our gullets.  We are the brave and mighty who dare to ride in the horrible conditions bestowed upon us by the gods of weather.com and live to tell tales of long climbs on sharp rocks and skinny tires, two flats all weekend within 10 minutes, broken chain at the outset crashing and bashing, bloodthirsty tree reaching out for passing arm flesh thwarted by double layers of sleeves.  Bad-ass BSA motorcycle lurks in the dark driveway of hipster coffee shop, useless brake rotor gleaming but lonely for caliper and lever no worries it always goes and it always gets him back, the black-leather cowboy with the cup of hot brown water.  Somewhere the band drones on, tape-player with dying batteries performing Stevie Ray tributes at pepsi jam whatever the hell that is and the trails remain, unaffected by imaginary snow and ready to take on all comers.  Home again now safe and sound and bloody and bruised feeling like I got away with something, thief in the night stealing fun from the dusty rock, road trip behind yet everlasting in the psyche of the two wheeled warriors on the move.