All my Mavericks records are rips from discs a former boss leant me. This guy was a real bastard, the beady-eyed aphasic kind, and he was a guitar collector with a special interest in Rickenbackers. I just can't get my head around that particular habit of the wealthy-- owning electric guitars that you don't use. It's easily excused if you used to use them and still have them, but to be currently pursuing the purchase of new guitars when you don't have any occasion to play them... it's just a bit creepy. Anyway, I often had me guitars with me at the job if I had a gig that evening, and the boss would always ask to see the Ricks. And he would always say, "Hey, Rex, you know, if you ever fall on hard times and need some money, I'll buy those from you." He got more and more intense about it right before he let me go. Just sayin'. I kept the records because I've heard the band is one of the more vital modern country artists and I figured I might one day want to check them out in more depth.
This is Day Three of me basically doing 39-40 from bed. I keep pulling up vocal-intensive songs and I have no voice. Drat the luck. Arrangement-wise I may have absorbed Sir Paul's faux reggae from yesterday as I went a little dubby on this one.
Rex Broome ~ Everything.