Tuesday, April 10, 2007


HENDERSONVILLE, TENNESSEE--This is a damned shame, and had me really alarmed at first. "What if there was memorabilia or obscure-tapes of Johnny in there?" I thought. No-dice, it's OK: Barry Gibb bought the place last-year and was restoring it. It seems the preservative they sprayed on everything was flammable. A small-piece of me thought--wished, really--that it was Johnny Cash. Yeah, it sounds weird, impossible, but Johnny had a knack for causing these things. It's almost as if he really did do it. Hey, he burned down a national park forest once, so why not?

I can imagine his spectral-figure floating elegiacally (with a fistful of uppers and downers) galling at a BEE GEE living in HIS HOUSE. Let's face it: when someone's singing sounds like a chipmunk being sodomized, they kind of have-it-coming. It's sad to see this house go, it really is. I saw Johnny 30-years-ago this summer--it was in the football stadium at Notre Dame. Unfortunately, it was with Billy Graham, the guy who pulled-strings with Nixon (hey, he gave a narc badge to Elvis...) to keep John out of prison when he'd been popped at the Mexican-border with a guitar case filled with tens-of-thousands of uppers and downers. There you go.