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January 29, 2020 by Simon Sweetman

Poem: That Summer When ‘She Talks To Angels’ By The Black Crowes Meant Everything; Everything…

Thirteen years old,
three strings on a three-quarter sized
acoustic guitar and every hope
in the world for so many things
except for trying to make
what was left of that instrument sing.

(Didn’t stop me from trying
though).

Where the fuck has
30 years gone? I think if
I scratch my head I can actually
answer that – with only a few
moments of utter embarrassment.
I spent my lawnmowing money
on a cassette copy of Shake Your
Money Maker – released February,
1990. Kept trying to learn She
Talks To Angels on the bits
left on that little guitar.

(But all it
could really cope with was the riff
to Smoke On The Water).

Bought Money Maker on CD
from a bargain bin in 2004 and what’s
more I talked to the lead singer on the
phone one time. The drummer too.

Separate conversations.

She Talks To Angels comes up any
time I think about that band – any time
I hear them. It’s like that thing Noel Gallagher
did with Beatles songs, repurposing just enough
of them for Oasis originals. The Robinson brothers
managed to get just what they needed and all that
they wanted from Led Zeppelin’s Over The Hills
And Far Away and Rolling Stones songs like Angie.

They made a song that meant the world to me right when
I needed it to.

Just as I wanted it too.

I never did learn to play it on the guitar, I doubt
I persevered that far – but I did start playing along
to Angels on the drums just the other day. That big
bass drum and snare drum hit, then cymbal crash as the second
verse comes in.

I felt thirteen – tingles rang from the sticks up my arms as
I sat on that ride cymbal groove.

I’ve ordered Shake Your Money Maker on vinyl – it’s there
for me to collect. The store has put it aside. Will wait for me
to stroll in and collect it when I do.

It’s worth it to buy back a bit of that first teenaged summer.

A little lock of hair for the pocket.
A cross around my neck.

I’ll never mention addiction either. And for
me it’s a different type of needle that
gets things in right under the skin.

Thirteen plus thirty equals exactly why
I’m here.

The music back on. And taking me there.
The music back on. And taking me there.
The music back on. And taking me there.

Posted in Blog, Miscellany and tagged with Black Crowes, Poem, Poem: That Summer When She Talks To Angels By The Black Crowes Meant Everything; Everything…, Shake Your Money Maker, She Talks To Angels, That Summer When She Talks To Angels By The Black Crowes Meant Everything; Everything…, The Black Crowes. RSS 2.0 feed.
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