Hear the lonesome whippoorwill
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
I’m so lonesome I could cry

I’ve never seen a night so long
When time goes crawling by
The moon just went behind a cloud
To hide its face and cry

Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves begin to die
That means he’s lost the will to live
I’m so lonesome I could cry

The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
I’m so lonesome I could cry

…because things have been going too well lately. The first full French Horns show went swimmingly. I’m doing a website for an interesting exhibit at the Harn Museum — I’ll have to work a few 11-hr days, but still, a neat opportunity. Monday I spent a nice afternoon with a friend. Yesterday I got the first haircut I’ve been happy with for as long as I remember and tonight, out of the blue, a guy who used to live in Gainesville sends me a link to his band’s website and it’s just gorgeous stuff. Hula is their name and they remind me of the first Mojave 3 record, early Aden and a little Low, but catchier. Here’s an mp3: “Over the Ground“

…when she’ll put her hand in another’s.

Secretly I want to bury in the yard
the grey remains of a friendship scarred.
…
It’s hard to leave all these moments behind.

— from “Kissing the Lipless” by the Shins

Scientists who study lucid dreaming say that being able to remember your dreams vividly is the first step to being able to realize, during a dream, that it is one. Since becoming a musician, I’ve had plenty of dreams where I’ve heard beautiful songs just to wake up in the middle of the night with vivid details of everything but that piece of music, and last night was one of them.

It’s all fuzzy, of course, but I remember some friends and I (no one I recognize now) were listening to a mixtape that ended with several Holopaw songs, and it was the last song that blew everyone away. I remember it had a couple key changes like the miniature epic “Honeymoonin’ Under the Sea” (by the great Holopaw side project Citra Super), and in the dream reminded me of the powerful Stevie Wonder song “Never Dreamed You’d Leave in Summer.”. It had such an effect on me that I wasn’t frustrated at all that I couldn’t remember how it went. I was just content to have experienced it. The mixtape also had Ben Folds Five (whom I don’t listen to that often anymore, but they were my gateway band into being addicted to music) and, oddly enough, a video for the Rentals’ “Summer Girl”. The band played in a white room, with cameras close to their hands and microphones, on which there were all sorts of bees, but it seemed routine. I even made a terrible joke, singing “I know I don’t like hives.” — or something like that — to the tune of “I know I’m not your type”.

I guess the idea that Paul McCartney could wake up in the middle of the night with the complete music for "Yesterday" in his head makes me think that this notion, of trying to remembering your dreams, shouldn’t be taken lightly by those of us with a drive to create. And for bad jokes.