Holy Light in the East Batman has it been that long since I’ve posted a ramble, roast or 12 gauge zinger fired off the cuff diatribe or glowing halo?

Guess I’m just not cut out for responsible blogging or even the rhythmic pacing of neophyte diarists who scramble from bed to keyboard in order to unleash a daily report on what ales them. I think I’m rather jealous of those able to achieve this, but then I’m not a self-centered, chronically vapid twenty something actress with a fourteen inch waist and a crayon for a brain. That or one of those I want to be Bono b-list lead singers of paint by number pop groups who pontificate on politics and religion when their knowledge of either couldn’t fill a hazelnut. Just shut up and come back when you’re out of short pants!

So, got that out of the way then and here we are in the season that speaks to all of us on different levels. I wish to you all the very best of the season and hope that each and everyone of you in your own way gives and receives with good intention, hope, harmony and blessings from on high.

I’m most definitely a Christmas guy, always have been, love it. In the descending order of yearly festivities it’s right up there just nudging out Thanksgiving which manages to crawl in over July 4th leaving Easter nestled comfortably at the bottom. Don’t get me wrong I sincerely endorse the biblical priority of Easter it’s just that I’ve never really been sold on the whole egg thing. Giant buck-toothed rabbits in all manner of garish colors hustling around with crocheted baskets full of God knows what, well, let’s just say it’s a little weird.

It would seem that one of the things to do at this particular time of year is to reflect and give thanks for those things, people, states of mind etc that we are well, just thankful for. The innumerable best of the year lists clog up the media with frightening regularity right about now and quite honestly although I’m shooting myself in the foot they can get both repetitive and tiresome. So having said that I’m taking my own stab at it with a slightly different angle. Why? Because It’s my blog and I can do what I want. Like my Mom says, “If you don’t want to hear it don’t listen”

It goes without saying naturally that family and friends are included but as I have no desire to drift into overtly personal territory please assume that they are accounted for.

Football, what a season, both college and the NFL set the standard for excitement and nail biting fourth quarter action. Not making any predications but could we see a Superbowl with two undefeated teams? Of course the loss of the Gators means we don’t get to visit the Rosebowl but you know what? The best team won and hats of to the Tide, they just had it all over us. Now let’s see if and what Tim can do in the pro’s.

While my idea of Hell is most defiantly top 40 radio and daytime television there is some light in the nighttime version of the latter with the second season of Elvis Costello’s excellent “Spectacle” Proud of my partner EJ for helping to up the ante on intelligent and thoughtful viewing while exposing colossally underrated talent to those tuning in. If only the dice rolled differently and programs like this were blockbusters while the cretinous dross that chokes the tube was relegated to some hillbilly network. If only “American Idol” could have had the same fate as the Titanic and sunk on it’s maiden voyage.

Speaking of mind-numbing television that insults both intelligence and human dignity I whole-heartedly recommend the writing of James Wolcott whose recent articles in “Vanity Fair” on Larry King and Reality TV are not only spot on insightful but also gut bustingly funny at the same time.

And I quote: Dog the Bounty Hunter with his racist mouth and Rapunzel mullet; tricked-out posses of “Dynasty” throwback vamps and nail-salon addicts (The Real Housewives of Atlanta, et al., the stars of which pose in the promos in tight skirts and twin-torpedo tops like lamppost hookers auditioning for Irma la Douce.)

Let’s hear it for Doctors Without Borders and all Christian missionaries who suffer discomfort and danger in third world territories and oppressive societies to serve the down trodden and destitute without complaint. If only their courage and faith dwelled in the mind-set of all mankind what a different world this might be. I constantly try to imagine the configuration of the hearts that are compelled to serve and wish that I could posses just a small spark from that fire.

Hopefully I’m not contradicting myself but when you are encouraged to send your dollars to feed the starving of foreign lands do so but save some for those here at home. Remember the percentage of homeless and hungry here in the US is staggering. We tend to forget this as we rush to benevolence when politicians and movie stars campaign for famine relief in faraway places. Commendable indeed but there’s a welfare famine at home folks and it’s not going away anytime soon. When some mega rich white bread actress weeps and whines and cries the blues about her love life to some glossy rag just remember there’s thousands of single mothers working two jobs a day and raising their kids with little to help them but their own ingenuity. Tip your waitress double and give her a smile she might need it more than you know.

Morris Dees and the Southern Poverty Law Center have continued the route out hate groups and racial injustice since 1971 without chasing headlines and posturing for self-gratification. Take note Al Sharpton this is how a class act operates. www.splcenter.org

If you live in California and love dogs with even a fraction of the passion we embrace them here on the home front I urge you to support the Lange Foundation. www.langefoundation.org As a board member and long time supporter I cannot say enough about Gillian Lange’s heartfelt work in protecting, rescuing and caring for literally hundreds of neglected and impounded dogs and cats.

Add along with these folks all those we should be legally bound to thank everyday of our lives. I’m talking of course about our teachers, nurses, cops, environmentalists and servicemen most of who get paid too little and regarded too lightly.

Help to keep the arts in the classroom and Mark Twain on the shelves. Don’t allow political correctness to sanitize our children’s reading material. Keep their minds alive and fertile with classic literature and inspired music programs.

Thanks for Cormac McCarthy heir apparent to William Faulkner not only for his astounding prose but also for his great dignity and media shunning silence. To read “Blood Meridian” is to read one of the greatest books written this century.

I cherish the PBR and its lineage to true cowboy heritage. These guys are the real deal and my friends. It offends me when hysterical self-righteous animal rights activists belittle these magnificent creatures by presuming them to be mistreated and forced into some sort of anti social bondage. Why is it always the city-bred dweebs with their half-truths and inaccurate information that raise their pointy little heads? Simple fact, bulls love to buck, it’s a highlight of their existence, a chance to flex their muscles and prove their worth in a gladiatorial setting. These animals are treated with the greatest respect and just think about it for a moment, a bucking bull weighs on average between 1700 and 1800Ibs while the average rider weighs between 120 and 150Ibs. Yea PETA this sport is inhumane all right, ON THE RIDERS. Stick to ragging on The National Diary Board for milking cows and lobbying the Green Bay Packers to change their name. The PBR rocks. Guts, glory and tradition and way better than NASCAR. www.pbrnow.com

Oh and a special salute to my man PBR CEO Randy Bernard for my money the hardest working, most creative and smartest executive in pro sports. This guy took a ten grand start up pipedream with a chair in a hallway for an office and turned it into a multi-million dollar organization with state of the art cooperate offices in Colorado Springs. If you’ve never witnessed a pro bullriding event then you’ve missed out on something that I can only describe as an amped up AC/DC concert that smells of gunpowder and bulls.

Musically there’s still much to be thankful for. For while most of what passes for entertainment these days can easily be confused with shellacked spam and dressed up turds it’s easy to forget that Joe Willie “Pinetop” Perkins and David “Honeyboy” Edwards the last of the great Delta bluesmen are still going strong in their nineties. Likewise bluegrass legend Dr Ralph Stanley and country pioneer Charlie Louvin are out there making music in the same age bracket and with the same passion. When it comes to heroes these guys measure up for me in every way imaginable. Akin to great historical buildings and majestic vistas they’re figures steeped in tradition, their legacy’s rising from the Mississippi mud and the Blue Ridge Mountains, a collective Rushmore 100% pure American made.

Emmylou keeps turning out gems, Hags still growling and the Possum hasn’t slowed down. Buddy Guy continues to smoke the frets (watch him steal the show in Scorsese’s Stones movie “Shine A Light”) and Doc Watson hasn’t relinquished his pick. Jimmy Scott may be slowing down and losing a little of what once was the voice of an earthbound angel but he’s still out there doing it. Tony Bennett just keeps getting better, Patty Griffin quietly forges beuts and Tom Russell remains the quintessential Renaissance man forever flying under the radar of mass appeal. Remarkable it is to that you can still shoot into some jazz dive and without fighting a crowd catch Mose Allison, McCoy Tyner, Kenny Burrell or Sonny Rollins go to work.

I’ve posted my regrets on the passing of several iconic individuals on past blogs so I’ll assume them duly noted and add to the list of gone but not forgotten several others, some of whom I knew others that I sadly didn’t but revered none the less. In no specific order they are: Koko Taylor, Les Paul, Mary Travers, Liam Clancy, Ellie Greenwich, Rubin “Zeke” Zarchy and Louie Belson. I apologize for those I may have forgotten; they have all moved me and moved on to greener pastures remaining staples of my turntable and CD carousel.

Oh yea and the Lord knows if I die tomorrow I want to come back as Hubert Sumlin’s guitar.

A couple of worthy books for ya’ll “Meeting Jimmie Rodgers” by Barry Mazor and “Linthead Stomp” by Patrick Huber

And finally you may have noticed in the news section up front that we’ve unleashed a few old chestnuts from the vaults. Whether this is a good thing or not I’ll let you to be the judge. Personally I was quite surprised by how well they’ve fared the test of time and for a brutal assessor like myself I can honestly say that I have no reservation in kicking them out there.

I recorded these three songs rapidly after having released the “Tribe” album and was looking for a little salvation from the slickness of that particular works production. It’s not that I had negative feelings for it; it’s just that it was most definitely a record company controlled project. Like I said I was fine with it, I was a willing participant, a lab rat on the wheel of the cooperate behemoth. It was an interesting experience and for one who’s convinced (or I was at that time) that you can’t knock it tell you’ve tried it I dove in and played the game. Sadly the splash anticipated by RCA caused a few initial ripples before sinking below the choppy waters of the mainstream sea. For the record however I have to say I still like a lot of that album and see it as a good enough example of the genre. Yea it fits comfortably enough in that compartment labeled “Been there done that.”

Guess that was more information than necessary but anyway back to the salvation thing. Simply I wanted to go in the studio and try something a little looser with a raw edge and nasty bones, something somewhere between “Exile On Mainstreet” and “Bummer Road” Not sure what we wound up with but it kicked enough ass to reassure me that my country rock n’ boogie credentials were still intact.

I think these tracks were quite possibly the template for Farm Dogs many moons later, so in a way there the roots of the roots band they spawned. I recorded them under the name Jane Doe because they sounded like a rock n’ roll band and for the simple anonymity I chose the project to maintain.

I should mention the players, as they were a collection of “Tribe” alumni and musical buddies ready and willing to contribute for a case of beer and pocket change. Craig Krampf who played a lot better but looked like Animal from Sesame Street. Kevin McCormick, a tremendous bass player who played with Nils Lofgrin and later went on to play with and produce Melissa Etheridge’s best records. Brian Fairweather wrote the songs with me and played most of the guitars. Fred Mandel who was Elton’s keyboard player at the time did just that and fired of that pretty dam cool Hendrix style guitar solo in “On This Rock” The fiddle came courtesy of the fabled Byron Berline a west coast legend and those growling sexy pipes and sonic wail belonged to Margret Taylor.

OK I think that’s quite enough from me right now. Be merry and mad, hold nothing back and be good to your yourselves. Cherish your families, give your children the tools to build a better tomorrow and keep the true meaning of Christmas close to your hearts.

Via Condios

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