Lying in the Hands of God - Dave Matthews Band

Me and DMB...I was never a big fan, they were okay. Sure I knew all the songs. I even had his solo album in my collection, which I liked a lot. But I never understood the draw...

Last year, the 31 year old I was dating, well, he was a huge DMB fan. As in he was in some Dave Matthews fan club, got first crack at tickets and had pre-ordered the new CD when we were together. The day it was supposed to arrive, he got home and saw that he had missed the delivery from the UPS guy. Argh! He missed it!

So we got into my Jeep and went hunting up and down the city side streets in search of the big brown UPS truck. And sure enough, we found it. He flagged him down and found that indeed, he was the RIGHT delivery guy. The UPS man dug in the back of his truck and pulled out the delivery of Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King. Success!

There had to be a special listening party. I recall thinking...this is it...I am witnessing a full on fanatical DMB moment. And so we picked up burgers from Plan B and ate them as we drove up to the hills in Northwest Connecticut. It was nightfall by then. We were high and it was time to listen to the disk. We drove up and down all these twisty, mostly deserted roads and listened.

And it was "Lying in the Hands of God" that did it. I had my feet up on the dashboard of my Jeep. We were on a particularly hilly road. And I just gave into the song, forgot my inhibitions, the meandering roads and all my anxieties, the green leaves of the trees swaying their company in the night overhead...I was one with it all. It was amazingly intense and I cried...and it was peaceful, and I smiled all the while. When the song ended, he turned the CD player off and pulled over. And we turned to each other...awe...and I knew the experience was mutual.

And so then I finally understood.


"Why I am, still here dancing with the GrooGrux King.
We'll be drinking Big Whiskey while we dance and sing.
And when my story ends it's gonna end with him.
Heaven or hell I'm going there with the GrooGrux King."

Good night, LeRoi...

"Pink Champagne" - Joe Liggins and His Honeydrippers

San Francisco's Lombard Street is world-famous for its twists and turns. We made our way up to the top. The homes gracing this slippery serpent are fantastic to behold. And while I always appreciate beautiful architecture, today I'm distracted and anxious to get to the bottom of this curvaceous landmark. For at the bottom of this hill is the Tattoo Art Museum, and today I am going to make my mark.

We find a parking spot right out front. We enter and realize we have the place to ourselves. There are two people behind the counter, a friendly looking brown-haired guy and a very tall, very thin, exotic-looking blonde. We take a look around at all the cool tattoo memorabilia, dating back to the 1800's. This, I think, is the perfect place for me to get a tattoo. I approach the woman behind the counter. I explain to her what I want done. She stares at me intently. It's my honeymoon, I tell her. I took his name, but don't want to lose mine. Could she design a champagne bottle, maybe with a flowery label? She answers me in a heavy German accent.

“Jah. I think I can do that.”

A few minutes later, she shows me her work. It's perfect. A small black champagne bottle with a pink poinsettia at its center.

“Let's do it!” I say.

She begins to work and the sizzling, pleasurable pain begins. The music (isn't it always about the music?) as usual, adds to the ever growing soundtrack of my life.

I say to the guy behind the counter, “Hey, listen to this song! You gotta tell me who it is!”

He cocks an ear towards the speaker.

“Woah! It's perfect, aint it?” He says.

I'm stupidly grinning through the pain.

“The song's called, Pink Champagne, by Joe Liggins and His Honeydrippers."

Need I say more?

"Don't Think I Don't Think About It" - Darius Rucker

(The following blog was sent in by a Grimm Generation fan. If you would like to contribute to The Grimm Generation Sings! submit to thegrimmgeneration@gmail.com for consideration.)

Timing is everything. Somehow, in the case of this particular pair, timing was anything but kind. She stumbled across him recently, and a smiled washed over her. The same smile that used to be painted across her face every time she would see him running down the halls in their junior high school. He was the cutest boy she had ever seen and she was the biggest chicken in the world. He was loud, obnoxious, athletic, and maybe the funniest person she had ever known. Everybody liked him. Students, teachers, coaches, everyone.

She heard a song the other day. One she had never heard before and honest to God it made her cry. It made her remember things she had long since forgotten. Things buried so deep into her subconscious that she forgot they were there. She remembered walking her dog on Saturday mornings, going way out of her way just to see if he would be outside shagging balls on the field or having a catch with his partner in crime. She spent endless summer days splashing around in the local pool hoping that he would show up for a swim. Many times it paid off because there he was. It didn't make a difference, however, because she was too afraid to speak to him. The only time she ever got close enough to him to have a conversation is when he was with said partner in crime. And even then all her conversation was directed toward his friend. I don't think she ever once looked this boy in the eyes.

She saw him one night at the local drive-in. She was coming out of the girls room and she heard this loud laughter going on just outside the doors of the concession stand. She and her best girlfriend decided to walk in that direction to see what was so funny. There were the boys, cutting up and having a great time. One boy pushed another and he lost his balance and stumbled right into me. I almost fell over. I surely would have had he not grabbed my arm to get me back in balance. “Oh my God” she thought as she looked up at his handsome face. She had never stood so close to him before. He was so tall!

“You okay?” he asked in a quiet voice that she had never heard before. He was always laughing or yelling or acting a mess but quiet was a new one on her.

“Yeah” She manages as she felt him release her arm. She was sure her face was beet red. Thank God for dimly lit drive-ins. Her friend had know this boy for years and had no problem picking up the conversation. She wasn't sure what they talked about. She just stood there as the words faded to silence and she watched his lips move. Insane, the crush she had on him.

She didn't see him for years after that. She was moving away that next day. Yet another move she didn't want to make, but was not given the option to stay put. She thought about him as she drifted off to sleep on the car ride to her destination. Soon, he was a distant memory.

Listening to this song, over and over, more memories came flooding back. She had moved back in state and during her lunch break one day she heard the whine of a very fast motorcycle. It was close and it caused her to look up. She could not believe her eyes, for there he was...all grown up. She had grown up as well and her inability to speak to him had left her. She smiled that smile, the one she always got when he was around. The smile she thought for sure he had never noticed. They talked awhile and laughed a lot. They talked about getting in touch and they exchanged numbers, but as fate would have it, she was moving again. This time her journey would take her clear across the country. Pretty soon he was back to being a memory.

After a couple years away, she moved back home. She got a job and life was ok. She thought about that boy from time to time. She tried to look him up every now and then too. She ran into a mutual friend at a concert and she asked about him. He was married and had a couple kids. Timing was just as unkind as she had ever been. She was glad that he was doing well and felt a little silly for the tinge of jealousy she felt over her childhood crush being married. Soon, he was a distant memory once more.

The song she heard the other day was one that he had played for her. You see, she ran into him again. Timing being what she has always been caused this encounter to be bittersweet. He was single having gotten divorced but that was not the case for her. She was married. He was still as handsome as he ever was and he still had a smile that would light up the sky if the sun should ever decide to go on strike. The things that killed her about him playing this song is that for all those times that she was afraid to speak to him, for all those opportunities she didn't take to just say hello, for all those extra miles she walked just to catch a glimpse of him...she found out that he felt the same way about her. If timing was unkind, irony was a bitch.

He played this song for her because he remembered that day in the bank parking lot. He remembered the laughter and the smiling. He remembered the exchanging of numbers. He remembered it as being the day that he never saw her again and over the years he has thought to himself about how he should have once again grabbed her by the arm and asked her if she was okay. She would have answered differently that time. Behind her tears there is a smile in knowing that way back where it all began, the shy girl with the huge crush was being crushed on herself.

Timing can be as unkind as she'd like, but she can not steal her smile, her memories, her crush that silently exists...still. Don't think she don't think about it.

~Anonymous

"Roxanne, Roxanne" - UTFO

Catholic School Kids
It's a big finished basement. The pool table dominates the room. A few of the guys are playing a game. I'm with Daphne. We've been friends since we were four years old. We both moved out of Frog Hollow when we were nine. My family stayed in Hartford, moved to a neighborhood right on the West Hartford/Newington town line. Her family moved to West Hartford. Her high school life includes dating the captain of the football team and a plethora of well-to-do friends. I date the burn outs until they drop out of school and join the service.

I'm sitting on the couch with my bi-level haircut, my favorite blue, Forenza V-neck sweater, black tank top, two-toned Gasoline jeans and my low-heeled, pink leather pumps. The rest of the kids have their jeans tucked into their slouchy socks and white leather high tops. Their crisp buttoned-down shirts have the collars turned up. As usual, I don't fit in.

Suddenly, there's talk of an eight ball, and I know they aren't talking about billiards anymore. A permanently flushed-cheeked boy leaves the house for a bit. When he returns, the room tilts and flocks towards him. Lines are cut and the snorting begins. On the stereo is UTFO's, Roxanne, Roxanne. The city life I am trying so hard to escape from drowns me; my swimming pool of irony. At least I have a straw.

"Supernaut" - Black Sabbath

I spent my 13th year alone, in seclusion. I blew off my few friends, stopped talking to my family (they didn’t notice...), stopped showering, ate too much; my skin a minefield of bad teen living. I did think about girls...but being an utter mess and fairly self aware of it, I figured that would be some other decade.
 
It was a conscious decision. I didn’t need friends or sunlight any more. I didn’t need vitamins or conversation or kissing or any of that low rent crap. I discovered Black Sabbath's 'Volume 4'.

It was a match made in teen heaven. Me, being a curious, dark and fat lil monster, albeit a bright one, I read obsessively, usually dark fat lil books about the Paranormal, ESP, UFO, as well as some classic Anglo (The Black Arrow, Beowulf and Ivanhoe come to mind). My mind was a jock, nimble, quick, good for short distances and long. My body, on the other hand, was a wreck.
 
Which didn’t matter anymore. I discovered Black Sabbath. That year made me what I am....
 
That's the thing the 'cool kids' don't get about metal; It’s a flag, it’s a place. Zeppelin's Valhalla, Deep Purple's Montreux, Black Sabbaths' Candle Lit Graveyard. It’s all a place to us, it’s a place of salvation, sanctuary. It’s where the geeks are muscle-bound and scoring chicks by the yardarm. Where a girl a little too big, in a dress a little too small, can be hooted at and wolf whistled at from the top rows of the New Haven Coliseum (RIP). It’s where you could scream things you never could say, and be joined in unison from the rabble around you.
 
It’s the biggest gang on the f*****g earth.
 
Punk is for college. Indie is for magazine writers. Rock is dead.

Metal perseveres, because there are always gonna be 13 year old boys. In seclusion, and a bit too bright for their own good