• Rating:
It happens that among faded impressions my senses wander...
a burst of red charmed my musicians
my companions were startled by that blue color
that sweet scent of burnt sienna
we searched for it everywhere
finding it at breakfast: the hint of honey overwhelmed the palate...
Robbie Robertson woke up one day with this idea in mind. He didn't know what it was: a dream, an intuition, a naïve wit, something to end it or just an illusion. But that memory didn't leave him free for a single moment... The following Sunday he went out and bought a guitar for 15 dollars at the flea market. That chestnut color was beautiful, like the natural dress of his human ancestors. Another ordinary afternoon he visited those men of whom only one and a half million are currently counted. He had a déjà vu.
He had never heard it but the shaman's chant was perfectly familiar to him, as well as the songs of the Appalachians and gospel preachers, Cajun, a bit of chamber music. He closed his eyes. What did he see? Something heroic or epic, maybe reactionary. He would have wanted a pair of lenses that way. And when he found himself in a recording studio he thought: "Whose record is this?".
Almost as if they had read his mind, the Band replied: "It will be called Music from Big Pink".
Loading comments slowly
