I thought I was familiar with the incomparable Jim Croce's canon, but I just discovered this song about 2-3 months ago.
An I am not mistak'd, this predates his partnership with the insanely talented guitarist, Maury Muehleisen. Edit: Yeah, this was from his second album, prior to their partnership. The record does feature Eric Weissberg (Dueling Banjos fame) on mandolin. Weissberg later accompanied Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. on many of his albums.
...play George and Merle.
But I will!
There's a [I think] new radio station on the radio, 92.1 Hank FM, that plays country music from yesteryear - not the dreck that currently fills the genre's airwaves. Not the strongest signal in my area, but I can get a couple of songs in on my commute to/from work.
Haven't heard them play this one yet, but it's certainly the style they play.
So, the other evening, recognizing that the 1# flat pack of ground chicken from Kroger's might start turning green if I didn't use it quickly, I commenced to 'brown' it in my beloved Wagner or Lodge cast iron skillet. While I use the term 'brown', it's more accurate to say it went from translucent pink to a nice opaque beige. I suppose poultry experts could explain all about that, but as long as the salmonellas are killed, it's no matter to me.
A bit of background. After a hiatus from cooking my own meals, lasting nearly two decades, a 'de-coupling' about a dozen years ago prompted my return to the kitchen. No fancy chef I, my recipes could best be described as 'Steinsuppe', using whatever - in nearly random proportions - that I decide to toss into the skillet, saucepan, or crockpot. Baking is not for me, as it's too dependent on precise measurement, temperature, and timing.
With the chicken now recipe ready, I was about to open a box of Meat Helper - Lasagna Style, when I remembered that we'd catered in Italian at work the day before, and I was scarcely recovered from that [delicious] lasagna-induced stupor. So, quickly shifting gears, I assayed how else I might employ the still steaming white meat.
Relieved at finding a can of Sloppy Joe sauce, I dumped same into a 3 quart pan and added the chicken. Sidebar: I used to use Rotel or Italian diced tomatoes, with SJ seasoning packets, but I've grown lazy, hence the canned sauce - don't judge. What hadn't changed is my fondness for beneficial fungi, and so I reached for a small can of sliced 'shrooms, opened it with a hand operated can opener (no, not a P-38 - I'm not a total ascetic), and proceeded to drain off the liquid into the sink.
What the heck!? The packing 'water' was drizzling out bright crimson, as the realization hit me that I'd grabbed a can of tomato sauce - the balance of which I added to the pan. Then I found the actual mushroom stems and pieces, drained them, and introduced them to the mixture for an extended simmering session, so as to evaporate the additional resulting liquid from my misadventure. Alternatively, I suppose I could've added a couple of pinches of baking soda, to similar effect.
Anyway, the Sloppy Joe sandwiches were quite tasty. Like cheap a$$es misers everywhere, I stored the leftovers in a former potato salad container. For the balance of the week, it looks like I'm having the same dinner.
The only complaint I have is that I have to cover the ramekin I use to microwave the filling. I think it's the mushrooms that, under radiation, make a racket like the beginning of World War III.
Nonetheless, tonight's dinner, including some actual egg mustard potato salad from another potato salad container, accompanied by a Boulevard Brewing unfiltered wheat beer, was quite tasty.
The End.
As all of the news outlets are reporting, legendary country music artist Charley Pride has passed away.
Back in my youth, Dad had some of Mr. Pride's 8-tracks in his 4WD which we would listen to while driving to, from, and on, the deer lease in South Texas. Sad to say, today's country music can't hold a candle to those tapes.
Kiss an Angel Good Morning was certainly a favorite, but I was also partial to the following song, as well as the great cover of Hank's Kaw-Liga.
I'm pained to say this, but this is a more authentic Chicago band than the current Chicago lineup.
That 2020 has not been a stellar year is not news. Lately, we've lost many of the icons of our time (youth?).
Actually, I was not acquainted with Billy Joe back in the day, but I was well aware of the movement that he was instrumental in creating.
Despite having grandparents in farming/ranching, in the early '70s, I wasn't much familiar with country music, outside of some Charley Pride and Roy Clark 8-tracks. Then I heard Good Hearted Woman, which turned me on to a new kind of country sound. Over time, I learned about the groundwork for the outlaw movement that had been laid by the likes of Michael Martin Murphey, [his classmate] Ray Wylie Hubbard, Jerry Jeff Walker, Gary P. Nunn, and Billie Joe Shaver.
This past week, we've lost two of those.
In pace requiescat, sir...
This song wasn't from Mr. Wilson's comeback album, although it was the first solo work of his that I owned.
Tonight's 'concert' at Chief Records was headlined by Billy Don Burns. A skilled singer/songwriter, with well-crafted songs.
I've only heard this song performed live twice. Once in the '70s by Fleetwood Mac. And again tonight at Chief Records (that's vinyl to you whippersnappers - they have LPs, 45s, and 78s) in Stockyards Station, as an acoustic solo by a lovely young lady named Olivia. You should've been there.
Trivia: This song is a bit of an anomaly. Originally featured on the eponymous Buckingham Nicks album, albeit in a slightly different arrangement, it was penned by Stevie, but Lindsey sings lead vocal. Crystal benefits from Christine McVie's ethereal keyboard flourishes and John's hypnotic bass line on the FM version.
Until tonight, my favorite version of this song was by the lovely Linda Ronstadt. It's on Heart Like a Wheel, but for the life of me, I cannot find the spare, haunting version (it had steel guitar, sans orchestra) that's in my head. Back to the present, these three young ladies absolutely do the song justice.
And you don't have to look at David Crosby...
Here's another take, by Foxes & Fossils. A little more like CSN's.
He looks a bit like Graham Nash, no?
I probably should change the title of this post, as I was mistaken, thinking it was from their album with Neil Percival Young the following year.
Well, hot dog! Just as I was pressing 'publish' (using the embed codes for the videos, which didn't work), I saw 'Revert to Legacy Blogger'. After looping around, I was able to do the reversion and link the videos with just the URLs, so I'm kinda happy with that.
Trivia note: Since 1997, Ms. Smyth has also been known as Mrs. John McEnroe.
For the whole day, I did not see 17 doves - white winged or otherwise.
After failing to draw a bead on a bird the whole morning, we went into town for Whataburgers, then came back and got a bit of shooting in on clay pigeons.
Oldest son pulling clays for another fellow in our party.
I had elected to carry a 20 gauge (on the right)...that my Dad gave me in about '69 or '70. Somehow, the stocks went missing in the '70s (perhaps while we were in Europe), and I replaced them in the mid-'80s. To the best of my recollection, I had not fired this shotgun since then. I dropped several clay pigeons, even though no doves ever came within range.
Over the past year, it's seemed at times that oldest son and I could've written Harry Chapin's Cat's In the Cradle. Although we didn't harvest any feathered bipeds to rub with sage and jalapeño and wrap with bacon (Mmm, bacon!), it was good to spend some time afield together.
(As a side note, I think this is the first post I've made since Blogger changed its editor to a new, sucky format. I am not a fan.)
I noticed there were a lot of fireflies on my bike ride last evening.
Trivia (10/3/20 edit): The line "Long distance winners/Will we survive the flight", is a self-homage to Stevie's song Long Distance Winner, featured on the pre-FM album Buckingham Nicks.
