Norman Blake
Whiskey Before Breakfast

This probably won't be a very orthodox review. I apologize in advance.

I've set my mind to it. I promised myself I would review all of Norman Blake's early albums, but "Whiskey Before Breakfast" seems like an insurmountable obstacle.

I make and undo, write and erase relentlessly for a long time, unable to dig my way out of a hole.

The fact is, it's not easy at all to review an album when it contains two of the most beloved songs of a lifetime. Especially when one of them is "Slow Train Through Georgia".

So I stop and try to make sense of it all.

I am only 28, born and raised an ocean away from the land and culture in which this song is rooted, yet every time these words and this music visit me, they invariably bring the (much appreciated) gift of tears and goosebumps. Every time as if it were the first.

So now what do I write?

Do I write about a journey I've never taken, aboard a slow steam train lazily climbing along the river, peacefully crossing entire forests of long-needled firs and puffing calmly towards the sea?

Yes, I can write this, because listening to this song, even though I haven't made the journey, it's as if I have. I too have seen the bridge over the river, and below it the boats swaying on the water. I too have felt the need to keep moving no matter what, come sun, rain, or hail. I too have been drawn to the border, and have seen red earth paths between the forests. I too have wished to be in any place of that country, as long as it's sun-kissed.

And it's as if I had taken an old guitar with me too, played it day after day, and let this slow train that crosses Georgia blow my sadness away.