Weeping Willow

My radio’s been whispering that a new Buddy and Julie album is on the way.  Julie Miller!  She seemingly disappeared after that New Year’s show that effectively ushered out the Bottom Line.  I’d been missing her – hoping that her health was ok and her spirits were lifting when a brand new single stopped me short a year or so ago.  Levon Helm had dropped a triumphant new album and there in the background of its premier track were the plaintive strains of Julie Miller.  It’s a dangerous thing to hear Julie without full mental preparation.  She is so unguarded in her singing (and writing) that you experience all the pain of the world in her voice.  Her sound is raw and delicate and not unlike the sensation of grazing your knuckles against cement.   You’ll already be bleeding before you even know what happened to you. 

Whenever Julie takes me by surprise, I can feel all the air leaving my body and all the color draining from my face.  She is entirely too earnest, too genuine, too real.  Just as the prince is too costly a grace for Beatrice to wear but on Sundays so, too, is Julie Miller too much an indulgence for everyday woes.  I sit at a desk five days a week and just I can’t go to the primal world that Julie inhabits while I am twiddling my thumbs under fluorescent lights.

Lucky for me, then, that my radio betrays me from time to time.  It finds her contributing to all manner of affecting songs.  Whenever I’ve gone too long without thinking or worrying about her, my radio will remind me how worthwhile it is to suffer through her demons with her.

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