Trawling Memphis

I wanted new words. I wanted new music to try and explain myself. I wanted a new scene in which I could lose myself all too thoroughly.

His voice touched me. Shocked me. Made me gasp. Broke me. Pieced me together again.

How do you explain the pure sensory assault? It's not just his voice- that raspy, orgasmic mix of pure man with the cheeky undertone hinting at boy, "root beer" indeed.

It's all too reminiscent of coming-of-age tales only this time I am brought along for a ride through heated desert plains and a beautiful girl with a beautiful boy watching the world, jumping off the edge and being vicariously alive. I cannot escape the imagery of too sweet piano keys and that aching, haunting grasp of Tom Waits' crooning voice.

... he's a juvenile delinquent, never learned how to behave...