You know how hard it is to find Muddy Waters records? There are a lot of repressings, I’m sure, but I can’t find one to save my ass. Well, Black Box took care of me this month. This is a sitting-in-the-studio album. It’s like you’re there with him. Someone said, “Hey, Muddy, I’m gonna hit record. You just play whatever comes to mind.” And he proceeds to do just that. One after the other, he just plays songs. You can hear people laughing and talking in the background. It’s very informal. Fun. I love it.
The other was Lucinda Williams. I have to admit, she’s somewhat of a guilty pleasure of mine. I think she’s hot, for one. In a dirty, taboo way, sort of. And I like her vocal inflection in Righteously. Like, a lot. When I was talking to my wife about her, she asked how far my thinking-she-was-hot actually went. I said, “Well, I think she’s kind of hot. But I’m turned off by her hatred.” Then she asked if that meant I wouldn’t fuck her. I said, “If she were lying in a bed, naked, covered in sweat and whiskey, I would still walk away.” And then I thought for a minute about it, and said, “Actually, never mind. That would be pretty hot.”
But I won’t ever buy a new record of hers, because I can’t imagine supporting someone with such a crummy personality. Her newest album, “Good Souls Better Angels” has a song called Man Without a Soul on it. It’s about Trump. Sigh. You don’t have to like Mr. Trump. But to write a damn song about him, claiming he has no soul? I’m sorry, that’s just trashy on a whole other level. So, no, I won’t be giving her my money.
But I gave Black Box Record Club my money. And they, I guess, gave some to her this month on my behalf. I guess I can’t be too mad about that. Because it’s a pretty nice record.