Day 21: The Devil Went Down To Georgia

I slept the night in a Jersey Bus Station feeling like an unclean tramp. I spent about half an hour int he toilets just to wash off the general Tom Waitsiness off of my body. I tried another reverse charges call to Miami, got the answerphone again. What was Crispian doing down there. This bedraggled version of me was a long way from that fateful day in the Reform Club. I cursed the thought of Tom Ewing and his pop loving beard.

So how was I to get down to Miami to be reacquainted with my money, my manservant and a gallon or two of lovely, lovely gin. Well I was in a bus station. And whilst I might not have any money I had something that the collective members of New Order did not have between them: an artful brain. And as serendipity would have it a bus heading for Athens, Georgia was just pulling up to the stand.

I have always wanted to go to Athens to see exactly how it spawned so many terrible bands, and perhaps make sure it never did again so this opportunity was too good to pass up. Luckily the humungous bulk of a number of the passengers made it very easy for me to slip into the underbus luggage compartment. Snuggled between a couple of rucksacks, it was not exactly comfortable but it was movement. After a bit the motion lulled me to sleep.

I was awoken by an angry bus driver who said he would call the police but frankly could not be arsed. So I skipped out and took stock. It had gone dark, and there was moisture in the air. Damn you Randy Crawford and your Rainy Night In Georgia. I shook my fist at the good of making bad musical connections and set out to destroy this town.

THE CHARLIE DANIELS BAND: The Devil Went Down To Georgia

I am under the impression that The Devil Went Down To Georgia, took one look at REM and the B-52s then buggered off again, on account of how their squealing noise and hideous visages were too vile for even the dark lord himself.

Moreover he feared that if he hung around he might lose his acquaintance with the best tunes*. After all baldy Stipes and the shouty one out of the B-52’s were hardly songwriting genii. The Devil was potentially attracted by the armageddonesque stylings of Its The End Of The World As We Know It, but soon realised that it was not actually the end of the world, merely everyone listening to the record wished it was to put an end to the awful noise.

As for Athens, let us compare and contrast the saying for the great and the good of Athens Greece with those of Athens Georgia:

Beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on Simplicity –Plato
Your feet are going to be on the ground, Your head is there to move you around Michael Stipes

Let him who would move the world first move himself. –Socrates
Red snappers snappin’, Clam shells clappin’, Muscles flexin’, Flippers flippin’Shouty bloke from the B-52’s

Hmm, cradle of civilization vs coffin of said.

*I do not condone the idea of there being such a thing as “the best tunes” but would happily admit that the best tunes, along with all the other tunes would exist in hell. Even if it is just my personal hell.