She took me to see her friends play, the local blues boys, slick and polished with that semi-funky southern whitebread gloss she calls "greasy", but which I think would be better labelled "harmless".
He's dissatisfied with his instrument, but he gets a monster sound.
He treats it like a job, but he plays with joy and depth.
The audience he plays for hate black people, but they love the black people's most intimate music.
One night someone gets his head blown off by shotgun in the parking lot.
La Bodega Cantina, Fontana, CA, 1978. Buddy Reed and the Rockets. Not harmless.
God they were awful.