Looking back on the musical offerings of 2024, one track that stood far above the rest was “Right Back to It” by Waxahatchee featuring MJ Lenderman. Released as an early teaser in January, the song found its permanent home on Tigers Milk, Waxahatchee’s stunning March release that cemented Katie Crutchfield’s place as a songwriter of rare emotional insight.
For the uninitiated, Waxahatchee is both a moniker and a flexible musical identity — a vessel for Crutchfield’s poetic musings, sometimes as a solo troubadour and other times flanked by a full-band ensemble. This fluidity of form mirrors the emotional depth of her music, where vulnerability is as much an instrument as her guitar.
On “Right Back to It,” Crutchfield collaborates with alt-country luminary MJ Lenderman, whose vocal harmony provides a wistful counterpoint to her introspective lyrics. The result is a love song unlike any other — a portrait of enduring affection painted in shades of insecurity and redemption. Crutchfield, in her own words, described the song as an exploration of “the ebb and flow of a longtime love story,” eschewing the saccharine for something more visceral and, ultimately, more relatable.
Musically, “Right Back to It” strikes a rare balance between simplicity and sophistication. Its timeless melody feels as though it has always existed, as if plucked from the ether and given new life in Crutchfield’s hands. The interplay of Crutchfield’s yearning vocals and Lenderman’s understated electric guitar fills ensure the song resonates long after its final notes fade.
In an era where fleeting trends dominate, Waxahatchee offers a welcome reminder that the best music isn’t just heard — it’s felt. And with “Right Back to It,” Katie Crutchfield proves, once again, that she’s a master of making us feel.
“Just Because” is a song first recorded by Nelstone’s Hawaiians in 1929. A few years later, in 1933, it was recorded by The Shelton Brothers. While the songwriting credit is officially attributed to Sydney Robin and Joe and Bob Shelton, some believe Robin wrote the song alone, with the Sheltons later claiming credit after their recording gained attention.
Regardless of its authorship, the song holds a seminal place in rock and roll history. It was recorded at Sun Studios in 1954 but remained unreleased until Elvis Presley included it on his debut RCA album in 1956.
Further cementing its legacy, “Just Because” has been covered by an eclectic mix of artists: twangy guitar maestro Duane Eddy (who passed away in 2024), skiffle enthusiast Paul McCartney, blues devotee Jorma Kaukonen, and rockabilly preservationist Brian Setzer. An especially unique rendition appears on the album Beauty and the Beard (1964), a collaboration between the unlikely duo of the sexy Ann-Margret and New Orleans clarinetist Al Hirt.
Though not a holiday song, the lyrics contain a whimsical twist: the woman being sung to refers to the singer as “Santa Claus.” It’s a humorous and fitting way to close out the year.
I’ve always been intrigued by the ability of an artist to write a song from the perspective of the opposite gender in a way that rings with authenticity. This post will highlight three examples of my favorite songs written by men from the point of view of a woman. In each case, cover versions by female artists are so effective that they underscore how successfully the male writer captured a woman’s voice and experience.
The first is “Angel From Montgomery” by John Prine. The song is from the POV of a Southern woman who feels like an old soul. It opens with these evocative lines:
I am an old woman Named after my mother My old man is another Child that’s grown old
The version by Bonnie Raitt, with her whiskey-soaked vocal, captures the essence of the song in a way that Prine’s original version doesn’t quite achieve. You can feel the desperation in her voice as she wishes to escape a life of drudgery and unfulfilled dreams.
Next is “Millworker” by James Taylor, a poignant song that delves into the anguish of a woman trapped by her circumstances. In “Millworker,” the narrator is a woman working in the mills during the Industrial Revolution. She recounts her struggles and hardships, painting a vivid portrait of resilience and sorrow.
Emmylou Harris’ version is the gold standard. She eloquently conveys the heartache of a woman who married a man who drank himself to death, leaving her to raise three children on her own. To survive, she takes a monotonous job in the mill, her mind drifting back to happier times on the farm where she grew up. The song ends with an overwhelming sense of sadness and regret.
Yes, but it’s my life has been wasted, and I have been the fool To let this manufacturer use my body for a tool I can ride home in the evening, staring at my hands Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl ought to stand a better chance
Finally, since it’s Christmas week, I have to include “Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis” by Tom Waits. The narrator, a woman, writes a letter to a man named Charlie, and through her words, Waits delivers some of his most vivid and poignant storytelling. The song is written in a Beat prose style, weaving a tale of a pitiful life with an unexpected twist at the end.
Neko Case (of The New Pornographers) recorded a version that stands out, though I can’t say it’s better than Waits’ original. With a simple church organ accompaniment, Case’s rendition spins the tale with raw vulnerability and haunting clarity.
While there are many more examples of songs written by men from a woman’s point of view, few match the emotional power of the three I’ve featured today. These songs not only demonstrate the skill of their writers but also the ability of cover artists to bring fresh, profound interpretations to the material.
Father John Misty (aka Josh Tillman) released his sixth album under that moniker in 2024. Its title, Mahāśmaśāna, is a Sanskrit word meaning “great cremation ground,” perfect subject matter for a pop album! Catch the sarcasm?
The lead track, and title song, is a 9-minute epic, both musically and lyrically – drawing comparisons to George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass.”
A rolling drum intro introduces sweeping strings, keyboards, and strings. By the 7:30 mark, a saxophone joins the wall of sound, along with screeching strings, that bring the song to a soaring climax.
FJM’s vision is bleak — he imagines a post-apocalyptic world left with no trace of life.
Mahashmashana, all is silent now And in the next universal dawn Won’t have to do the corpse dance, do the corpse dance Do the corpse dance with these on
However, in an interview with Scott Simon of NPR, FJM offered a different perspective on the song. “Well, that ‘Mahāśmaśāna’ song I really think of as being a love story. But this corporal form, you know, it just – the body wins every time. And love is kind of the foot soldier of that destruction – sounds like a hit.”
The album has received critical praise, placing 49th on Paste’s list of the 100 Best Albums of 2024.
Kristin Hersh, a founding member of Throwing Muses with her stepsister Tanya Donnelly (The Breeders, Belly), released her solo album Hips and Makers in 1994. The album, a raw collection of deeply personal demos, wasn’t initially meant for release — making it similar in spirit to Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. One song on the album, “Sundrops,” has the aura of “As You Said,” the sublime Jack Bruce song he composed for Cream.
The lead track, “Your Ghost,” is stunningly haunting.
Is the “ghost” a lost lover? A departed friend? A relative? Hersh keeps it ambiguous, which only adds to its power.
If I walk down this hallway tonight, It’s too quiet, So I pad through the dark And call you on the phone, Push your old numbers And let your house ring ‘Til I wake your ghost.
It feels like Hersh is dialing the number just to hear the voice on her ghost’s answering machine.
I can’t drink this coffee ‘Til I put you in my closet.
She’s paralyzed, unable to go through even the simplest routine — drinking coffee — until she finds a way to tuck the ghost away.
Michael Stipe of R.E.M. was instrumental in shaping the recording of this song. Conversations between Hersh and Stipe helped her realize what the track needed: his voice. Stipe agreed to lend his poignant presence to the song.
The sparse arrangement — just guitar, cello, drums, and vocals — perfectly complements the aching sentiment of the lyrics, creating a delicate, ethereal atmosphere that lingers long after the song ends.
Today’s post was written by a guest contributor, KJ Nolan, who last penned for the SotW in August 2010. KJ and I have been friends for 40 years when we met Boston College and worked at the school’s radio station – WZBC. As you will see from today’s post, he still keeps up with new artists. Of course, that’s no surprise to me! TM
Late to the party, as usual, I didn’t hear about the Courettes until my missus got a tickle about their fourth album in her Facebook feed. Shortly later, our copy arrived, one of many times she has been the one to bring new music into our home. I was immediately hooked. The album echoes Blondie, Lucious Jackson, Ronnie Spector (not to mention La La Brooks, who makes two appearances on the album), Brian Wilson (one of their engineers is an alum of the “Smile” sessions”), sixties fuzz punk and the Wall of Sound, just for starters.
The Courettes are Martin Couri, a fellow from Denmark and Flávia Couri, a gal from Brazil. The two met when their respective bands were gigging together. Joining forces, they built up a strong reputation over the course of three albums and such singles as “Want You Like a Cigarette” and “Boom! Dynamite”.
The Soul of . . . the Fabulous Courettes was released last September. Martin, on drums, and Flávia, on a bad-ass Silvertone and other guitars, are joined in the studio by Søren Christensen, who produces the tracks and layers them with keyboards. The album is a little more slick and a wee bit more Americanized (there is a “Boom” song here, too, and Flávia pronounces it “bewm”), but their power is undiminished.
The Soul of… takes no prisoners from the get-go. Recognizing that the best rock & roll songs are about sex, the kids blast away with longing, hunger and joy on “You Woo Me”. A Farfisa organ, another sure sign of a great rock & roll song, whines insistently, while Flávia makes clear what her protagonist is after.
Don’t leave me hanging
Don’t make me sad
I’ll give you something
That you’ve never had
Come on baby
You drive me mad
You’re in my mind
It’s all the time
You’re just my kind
I cannot hide
You woo me
Yeah, you woo me
Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?
[A side note: all lyrics are approximate. With no online lyrics that I can find anywhere, I resorted to listening over and over. I even took advantage of YouTube’s adjustable playback speed. And you know what? “Woo Me” at 50% speed isn’t half bad! It’s got a languid, bluesy feel that I find entirely satisfying.]
My personal favorite track is “Here I Come”. It’s another up-tempo barn burner driven by a clever little rhythm riff that stays with you. Once again, the female protagonist is openly predatory, warning “You better stop, there’s nowhere to hide.” The chorus arrives, the band roars into overdrive, and our heroine declaims:
Some day
I’m running your tail
I’m coming your way
I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha
Some day
I’m coming your way
I’m running your tail
You better watch your back, here I come!
Thanks, hon. If you need me, I’ll be hiding under the bed. But I’ll shave first, just in case.
The last track for this post is one of several “My ex is a douche” songs strewn through the album. I guess we all knew someone who made us feel that way, but wait! Turns out that this one isn’t about an old boyfriend at all. This one (like another one, more obviously worded) is about her abusive father, who passed away some years ago. Flávia says in the band’s page on the website for label Damaged Goods (damagedgoods.co.uk/) that “Don’t Want You Back” is “about his death and how he still has a power over me and bringing me down and what it’s like to break free from that.” The song pulses and swirls at a slower tempo, punctuated by tube chimes. The intent is unmistakable.
Still haunting my dreams
Breaking my schemes
Causing me sorrow once again
I’m glad that you’re gone
Forever gone
I don’t want you back
Never, never again
Hurt by lover or parent, the emotion is universal. “Don’t Want You Back” plumbs it memorably.
Bonus stuff: the kids played SXSW last spring, for about 35 minutes. The Soul of… was still months away, so they didn’t play any of the songs from it, except for “SHAKE”, their final number, now out as a single. It’s just the two of them, and the show is raw and raucous.
It’s been half a century since the Ramones changed everything. Pop music has gone in lots of directions since then, as has that subset we call rock & roll. The Courettes harken back to when untrained teenagers with cheap guitars first took the stages of their high school auditoriums, and they synthesize everything worthwhile that followed. Here’s to seeing them make it big.
Ecclesiastes was famously the inspiration for the Byrds’ massive 1965 hit “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There is a Season)”, written by Pete Seeger in 1959. Pete Townshend’s song “Empty Glass,” the title track from his 1980 solo album, also refers to Ecclesiastes, resonating deeply with its existential musings.
Written during a turbulent period in Townshend’s life, the song’s lyrics evoke themes of spiritual longing, disillusionment, and the search for meaning amid chaos. The “empty glass” becomes a powerful metaphor, capturing both depletion and the potential for renewal.
I don’t pretend to be a student of the Bible, but the connection between Ecclesiastes and “Empty Glass” led me to investigate. This is what I learned.
The book of Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible is a poetic meditation on the human condition, marked by its exploration of life’s seeming futility and the quest for meaning. Attributed to “Qoheleth” or “The Teacher,” the text grapples with profound existential questions, famously declaring, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity (i.e. futile)!” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). Themes of transience, toil, and the search for purpose thread through its twelve chapters, offering observations that oscillate between despair and tempered hope.
Qoheleth observes the cyclical nature of existence: generations come and go, the sun rises and sets, and human labor appears repetitive and ultimately inconsequential (1:4-11). Despite its sober outlook, the text does not prescribe nihilism. Instead, it encourages finding joy in simple pleasures — eating, drinking, and enjoying one’s toil — because these are gifts from God (3:12-13). Ecclesiastes challenges readers to embrace life’s ephemeral beauty while acknowledging its mysteries and limitations, urging humility in the face of the divine.
Qoheleth’s declaration that “there is nothing new under the sun” (1:9) underscores a sense of futility, echoed in the opening lines of Townshend’s “Empty Glass”:
Why was I born today? Life is useless like Ecclesiastes says.
This direct reference situates the song as a modern meditation on timeless questions. Townshend’s lamentation of life’s emptiness mirrors Qoheleth’s reflections on the fleeting nature of worldly pursuits. Yet, both the text and the song suggest that this acknowledgment need not lead to despair; instead, it invites introspection and openness to spiritual fulfillment.
Townshend’s lyrics are imbued with a yearning for divine connection, a theme central to Ecclesiastes. Qoheleth acknowledges human dependence on God, stating, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity in their hearts” (3:11). While “Empty Glass” does not directly articulate this sentiment, its metaphor of an “empty glass” can be seen as a vessel awaiting spiritual replenishment — a subtle reflection of the biblical notion that life’s meaning transcends human understanding.
Despite its somber tone, Ecclesiastes ultimately encourages finding joy in the mundane. The text’s refrain to “eat, drink, and be merry” (8:15) is not hedonistic but an acknowledgment of life’s fleeting nature and the importance of cherishing its small blessings. Townshend’s song, while darker in tone, contains a similar kernel of resilience. The “empty glass” may symbolize a state of depletion, but it also implies readiness to be refilled — a nod to the potential for renewal. He says:
Don’t worry, smile and dance You just can work life out Don’t let down moods entrance you Take the wine and shout
Both Ecclesiastes and Pete Townshend’s “Empty Glass” wrestle with profound existential questions, grappling with themes of futility, mortality, and spiritual longing. Yet, neither succumbs entirely to despair. Ecclesiastes reminds readers to embrace life’s transience with humility and gratitude, while “Empty Glass” speaks to the enduring human quest for meaning and connection. Together, they offer complementary reflections on the human condition, bridging ancient wisdom and contemporary experience.
The recent rejection of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter by the CMAs and the country music establishment highlights the barriers that pop artists often face when crossing over into country. (That snub was somewhat corrected last week when Beyoncé and Cowboy Carter received 11 nods!) Despite Beyoncé’s creative integration of country themes and sounds, her work received limited recognition from traditional country circles, exposing lingering questions about authenticity and genre boundaries. Beyoncé is not the first artist to bridge these worlds—many pop musicians have taken bold, genre-bending steps into country, including Ray Charles, Ringo Starr, Elvis Costello, and Leon Russell. These albums provide insight into how pop artists reshape country music, pushing its boundaries while navigating its norms.
Ray Charles’s Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962) remains one of the most influential pop explorations into country music. Charles’s interpretation of country standards through R&B, jazz, and soul transformed the songs and underscored country music’s universality. This album achieved critical and commercial success, challenging both genre and racial barriers, and expanding country’s reach to new audiences. Charles’s success demonstrated the genre’s potential for reinvention and set a high bar for future crossover efforts.
Former Beatle Ringo Starr approached country music with sincerity and respect in his 1970 album, Beaucoups of Blues, recorded in Nashville. Unlike Charles’s reinterpretations, Starr’s album featured original songs written by country music insiders, such as Jerry Reed and Sorrells Pickard, and was crafted with Nashville’s leading session musicians. Starr’s connection to country music predated this album; he had previously recorded country-influenced tracks with the Beatles, including “Act Naturally” and “What Goes On,” and worked closely with George Harrison, who shared his appreciation for the genre. While Beaucoups of Blues did not achieve commercial success, it reflected Starr’s genuine admiration for country and highlighted his willingness to dive into the genre’s traditions without diluting its sound.
Elvis Costello’s 1981 album Almost Blue took a different approach, focusing on cover versions of country classics by artists like George Jones and Gram Parsons. Unlike Starr’s focus on original songs, Costello paid tribute to existing classics, adopting a traditional country production style. Produced by Nashville icon Billy Sherrill, the album received mixed reviews; some critics appreciated Costello’s sincere tribute, while others questioned his ability to connect with country’s raw emotional depth. Almost Blue showcased Costello’s serious regard for country music, serving as a love letter to the genre from an outsider’s perspective.
In 1973, Leon Russell, recording under the alias Hank Wilson, released Hank Wilson’s Back Vol. 1, an album rooted in country while blending rock, gospel, and blues. Russell’s take on country, with his Southern roots and reputation for genre fusion, was largely embraced by country fans. Russell’s crossover was met with enthusiasm, perhaps due to his background and connection to Southern musical traditions, and highlighted his ability to blend genres authentically, delivering an innovative yet faithful interpretation of country standards.
Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter continued her exploration of country music, incorporating themes of resilience, independence, and Southern pride. However, despite its country-inspired narratives and instrumentation, Cowboy Carter was met with limited recognition from the country establishment, following in the pattern set by her earlier foray into country with “Daddy Lessons” from Lemonade (2016). While her work celebrated country traditions, her outsider status as a pop and R&B icon seemed to influence the genre’s gatekeepers. Beyoncé’s journey into country is a testament to the ongoing challenge of genre-crossing, especially for Black artists, whose contributions to country are often under-recognized despite their impact.
Ray Charles, Ringo Starr, Elvis Costello, Leon Russell, and Beyoncé each ventured into country with unique styles, bridging genres and challenging conventions. Charles redefined country standards, while Starr and Russell embraced country traditions with earnestness and originality. Costello’s Almost Blue honored the genre’s roots, and Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter continued the push for inclusivity. Together, these albums illustrate both the expansive possibilities within country music and the genre’s evolving yet complex relationship with crossover artists. The diverse approaches by these pop musicians reveal country’s potential to transcend boundaries, even as it maintains a guarded sense of tradition.
Now that the presidential election is over, I’ll be stepping back from the news and tuning into other things on TV — probably more sports and binge-watching some series. Before I started a heavy travel schedule in mid-September, I began rewatching The West Wing from the beginning. I wish Jed Bartlet were really running for president. Now that was a man of character!
One of my favorite scenes is from Season 1, Episode 18, “Six Meetings Before Lunch.” In this episode, the White House staff successfully confirms their first Supreme Court nominee, Justice Roberto Mendoza. The team throws an impromptu celebration party, and they coax C.J. Cregg (Allison Janney) to perform her iconic lip-sync routine to “The Jackal.”
“The Jackal” is a track by British guitarist Ronny Jordan, released in 1993. The Grammy-nominated Jordan was known for his style of music, often called “urban jazz” or “acid jazz.”
The track features a spoken-word vocal by Dana Bryant, telling the story of a streetwise ladies’ man, with heavy use of ‘70s street slang:
Fly boy was in the buttermilk, hard, livin’ fast, livin’ large, 6 foot 4 and not an ounce of fat!
When women asked, ‘is you a Cat?’ He said ‘I did more that that.
I’m the froest of the fro
And in case you hadn’t known, they call me ‘The Jackal’.
Jordan passed away at the young age of 51 in 2014, leaving behind a legacy in jazz that’s still celebrated by fans today.
Guest contributor Jim Iacoponi wrote today’s SotW. Jim is a tie-dyed-in-the-wool fan of the Grateful Dead. He attended over 50 Grateful Dead concerts before Jerry Garcia died in 1995 and has seen countless more shows in the various group configurations since. Besides being a Dead Head, Jim is a talented engineer, an artistic ceramist, and an exceptional pizzaiolo! TM
On Friday, October 25th, the music world lost a deeply loved and most talented musician, the Bay Area’s own Phil Lesh. He was 84.
A founding member of the Grateful Dead, Phil was rarely in the spotlight when the band performed its 2,284 concerts from 1965 through 2015, leaving that largely to Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir. Back in the day, “let Phil sing” was often shouted out by fans. He rarely did.
Of the 484 songs (original and cover) that the Dead performed over the years only 4 were penned by Phil. Yet it was his bass that drove the band, its pace, and strength, and his deep musical connection with Jerry that bent each show to the heights and breadth of where jams could go. If Jerry was the explorer and Bob the storyteller, Phil was the bedrock from which the group launched its trips.
In the early ‘70s my high school friend Peter had the first (and best) car cassette player I’d ever seen with 30 watts per channel and two 8-inch speakers in his Impala. Peter had hours of live Dead shows: Carousel Ballroom, Winterland, Eugene, Cow Palace. We cruised a lot! And there I first met Phil.
The Dead’s 2nd sets were known for their spacey jams, moving from one song to the next with epic wandering and reconnection. They captured their and the crowds’ moment, hitting that ‘high point’ for the evening. No two sets were alike. “The Other One” was a 2nd set fan favorite. Phil’s bass opens it with a riff all Heads know and continues to pulse and push, as Bob’s voice tells a tale of a trip on a bus driven by Cowboy Neal (Cassady, of Merry Pranksters fame) to Nevereverland.
Those magical bootleg tapes and Phil’s bass hooked me for life.
The well-known song “Truckin’” always got fans back up on their feet after a slower ballad and with Jerry, Phil’s bass jumpstarts the tune and carries the rhythm through to the end. “Truckin’s” lyric traces the band on a US tour with stops in cities out East and commentary on a few:
On January 30, 1970, the Dead’s hotel in New Orleans was raided and the band was busted on marijuana charges:
…Arrows of neon and flashing marquees out on Main Street
Chicago, New York, Detroit and it’s all on the same street
Your typical city involved in a typical daydream
Hang it up and see what tomorrow brings
Dallas, got a soft machine
Houston, too close to New Orleans
New York got the ways and means
But just won’t let you be…
Sittin’ and starin’ out of the hotel window
Got a tip they’re gonna kick the door in again
I’d like to get some sleep before I travel
But if you got a warrant, I guess you’re gonna come in
Busted, down on Bourbon Street
Set up, like a bowlin’ pin
Knocked down
It get’s to wearin’ thin
They just won’t let you be…
In classic Phil fashion, his bass tees up the song’s beloved refrain. Even today at shows by all of the bands that celebrate the Dead’s music, his driving riff is memorialized, and the crowd responds, singing at the top of the top of their lungs:
…Sometimes the light’s all shinin’ on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it’s been…
Phil and Dead lyricist Robert Hunter wrote what I think is one of the most poignant of the Dead’s songs, “Box Of Rain.” Phil was coming to terms with his father’s succumbing to cancer, thinking about the past, wondering about the future, and how to bring peace and comfort in such distress:
…Look out of any window
Any morning, any evening, any day
Maybe the sun is shining
Birds are winging or rain is falling from a heavy sky
What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
For this is all a dream we dreamed
One afternoon long ago…
The singer offers a ‘box of rain’ as a way to bring solace, and love to lighten the load:
…What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain
And love will see you through…
And while he didn’t sing lead often, Phil’s uneven voice carried the audience through “Box of Rain,” offering its closing lyrics with depth and personal tenderness:
…And it’s just a box of rain
I don’t know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
Or leave it if you dare
And it’s just a box of rain
Or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long, long time to be gone
And a short time to be there.
“Box of Rain” was the last song in the encore of the Dead’s last show (at Soldier Field) in 1995, before Jerry died.
Almost two years ago my family committed our Dad’s ashes to the Pacific under the Golden Gate Bridge in a beautiful ceremony of remembrance, kinship, and closure. I chose to say “see you around” to Dad by playing the Dead’s “Brokedown Palace” on the boat that day.
While not one of Phil’s four songs, it lives because Phil did. The song ends:
..Fare you well, fare you well
I love you more than words can tell
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul.
It is indeed a fitting farewell to the life-long friend of that tie-dyed tribe Phil helped guide for nearly six decades.
Thank you, Phil. For Deadheads and music fans everywhere, you’ll live on because the music you made for all those years will always live on. What a long, strange trip indeed!
