you tangle my emotions

 

Tom Petty's boots.*

Dear Radio Dodo Listener,

Ooooh!  Today's song is so good!  If you have been tuning in for a while, you will see that Tom Petty is often played here; because I love his descriptions of how we feel.  And that is that.  But there is also, the fact that my favorite Petty songs are sung by women.  "Don't Come Around Here No More," is made more, made larger by Rhiannon Giddens.  You'll hear it.  It isn't an opinion, it is a fact.  There is also, as further evidence, Lucinda Williams singing "Changed the Locks."  These versions are peerless.

*  I wonder, too, as I imagine you do, what would it be like if we put our feet in those boots?  How would we walk and where to?  I think about this with the artifacts of other people too; Judy Garland's ruby slippers, Johnny Cash's big black Manuel Cueva's suits, Linda Ronstadt's cub scout uniform, the fantasy of inhabiting those people and places.  I know I'd want to wear these things into the Seven 11, and I would want to smoke heroin, and I wouldn't take any guff wearing these duds, not even from my relatives.

Another one.

 

Dear Love Song Collectors,

Here is your song of the day, another beautiful declarative song from Tom Petty; a love song to file between Brian Wilson's God Only Knows  and Billie Holiday's I'll be Seeing You.  When my Mom dies, I am going to have I'll be Seeing You played.   For my own memorial, I will have Paul Simon's American Tune.  

Bonus feature.

That ain't Jack.

 

Dear John,

This is, though, and it is also your song of the day.  I adore these short, simple, and declarative Tom Petty songs.  

Lost Highway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nearest, Furthest and Dearest Ones,

I am little threatened, a little scared, a little loathe to lose my highway.  What I mean, of course, is that I prefer to continue to drive my car, and make my own mistakes, and not have to discuss too much of it with Hal.  The car, for me, is a symbol of a kind of sovereignty.  It is a wildly powerful machine, a car; and they let you first drive one in your formative years.  Which might be why it will always feel to me a little like Christmas morning to pull the strap across my chest, bandolier-like, turn the key in the ignition, place my hands at 10 and 2 o'clock, and think:  Is everything go?  It will always feel like a fine beginning to me, like an adventure.  Driving has never felt like a chore to be avoided, like cleaning grout or filing taxes.  This, they tell me, is partly due to genetics, but I prefer the conceit of believing that it is my own personal choice to be a pirate, a gadabout, a pilgrim, and a gallivanter.

Did I tell you about the thing with the light bulbs?  I abhor those efficient bulbs with their ghastly bluishdeath glow, and so I bought a C-note's worth of incandescent bulbs some years ago.  Yes, it did feel like I had gone a little mad, hoarding light bulbs like that.  And so we come to the automobile: Can I get a big box of older cars that will let me do the driving and just use them up for the next however many decades?  Would that seem crazy to you? 

By the time the self-driving car hits the shelves, I will be through with my mourning, because I am already seeing that what I really worry about, what I am most afraid we might lose, is not just the chance to drive along in an automobile, but some piece of being human.  When I figure out precisely what human attribute I fear we are losing, you will hear from me, and we can try to save it together.  In the interim, please enjoy these three songs:

 

 

one

 

two

 

three

 





 four.