michelle and i just got back from a ryan adams gig. (thank you ford for buying my ticket before i even left belfast.) it was in a great little venue, the Roseland Theatre in Portland... small and dimly lit, which made for an intimate, whiskey-sipping, acoustic affair. at least it was for me. jameson's in a plastic cup still tastes as mellow. jesse malin opened and was fantastic. he played an upbeat set interspersed with some great stories about growing up in brooklyn. i had seen him in the limelight in belfast last summer - a great wee gig - where he had the crowd on their knees on the floor, arms in the air, singing in unison 'helpless, helpless, helpless' while malin led this unlikely outburst of worship, critiquing bush and bemoaning the onslaught(er) of the exportation of american 'democracy' to other parts of the world.
when ryan adams appeared, it quickly became clearly that he was stoned. he swilled vodka from a paper cup, smoked half a dozen cigarettes and stumbled around quite a lot, begging the lighting guy to have mercy on his fuzzy head and turn down the pink spotlight. he was high. he was a mess. it was sad. a lot of people in the crowd cheered him on. but their voices echoed through the theatre and only sounded hollow. here was a deeply talented artist on stage, playing beautiful, melancholic, haunting, confessional music...but spending as long apologising for his fucked-up state as he did playing the songs. it became frustrating, this oblivion, until near the end he thanked the audience for their support through his hellish year. it was a sobering moment. and i admired, possibly even envied him, for acknowledging his pain and his chaos.
i think i'll let Magnolia Mountain serve as his, and my, improbable and appropriate hymn for today.
I want to go to Magnolia Mountain
And lay my weary head down
Down on the rocks
On the mountain my saviour made
Steady my soul and ease my worry
Hold me when I rattle like a hummingbird hummin'
Tie me to the rocks on the mountain my saviour made
Lie to me
Sing me a song
Sing me a song until the morning comes
If the morning comes, will you lie to me
Will you take me to your bed
Will you lay me down
Till I'm heavy like the rocks on the riverbed
That my saviour made
I want to be the bluebird singing
Singing to the roses in her yard
The roses in her yard her father grew for her
It's been raining that Tennessee honey
So long I got too heavy to fly
Ain't no bluebird ever gets too heavy to sing
Lie to me
Sing me a song
Sing me a song until the morning comes
And if the morning don't come, will you lie to me
Will you take me to your bed
Will you lay me down
Till I'm heavy like the rocks in the riverbed
That my saviour made
We burned the cotton fields down in the valley
And ended up with nothing but scars
The scars became the lessons that we gave to our children after the war
But there ain't nothing but the truth up on the Magnolia Mountain
Where nobody ever dies
Steady your soul and ease your worry
They got a room for you
Lie to me like I lie to you
Calm me down until the morning comes
And if the morning don't come
Lie to me
Will you take me to your bed
Will you lay me down
All heavy like the rocks in the riverbed
That my saviour made
