18 February 2010


Yonks back when I was mastering the Universe as an Amazon.com peon in Seattle-by-the-sea, I ran an unlikely powerful blog that had people stopping me in Safeway and saying,

"Duude! You were like so fucking right about that book."
"I should make you pay for these groceries. That bar stunk - to boot, the redhead's tits were fake."

A very astute record PR saw thru my chinless wonder fluting Oxford ways and sent me a CD by a complete unknown, one Jason Whitton whose Thriftstore Cowboy was and is an absolute joy to have as a musical companion thru life (plus I still find that album cover wonderfully dramatic).

So that the clever label marketing smoothie would send me more like Jason, I trotted out a dutiful notice and moved on to try and actually sing the first track myself at some of my discerning gigs.

Get this, the great man hisself wrote back to put me right on the early chords, so go clamp yer capo round *that*, buddy boy.

So ... Life moved on and I ended here in Greece and was tootling around with some fotos and could not think of a better track to set them to than Alibi.

I'm fully aware that M'sieur Whitton has also moved on and seldom now plays from a flatbed and has a battalion of lawyers who will descend on me and rip the gizzard of my blog open and remove this impertinent borrowing.

But you know what? The same thing has happened as back when I first trumpeted it abroad - except that it's a leetle harder to buy the Whittons of this world in downtown Corfu - people are calling up and demanding "Who is that guy?"

Nothing about Yo! Shit hot photos and great timing and I love the snap of Sam at the end and ... yeh, also Sam and 'Her' ...".

All they're frigging on about is the wonderful song and singer.

And tho' I say it myself, it does fit extremely well.

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