Life’s rhythms are such that it doesn’t take much to mess with the mechanisms of my mind. Cogs clog from metaphoric dust as often as they bog down in emblematic mud, with the muck and mire taking time to clean. It’s why I try to maintain a routine. Years long ago, I woke early and—weekends and concerts aside—generally fell into bed by 10:30 at night. The first hours of most days were devoted to the cat, coffee, and computer, which I used to check the headlines and my online communities. I often dashed off a review of a Neil Young bootleg for the original Old Grey Cat website before leaving for work, too.
These days, though the hours have shifted somewhat and the cat is sadly absent, my schedule is remarkably the same as way back when. I wake, fall out of bed, run a comb across my head, drink coffee, and groove to tunes old and new here at my desk, all while surfing what we used to call the World Wide Web. One difference: I no longer scan my inbox for email digests from the Rust List, Little Diva and other Listserv groups. Instead, I log into Facebook, Threads and Instagram to catch up with friends and strangers alike, and fly the Blue Sky for a few minutes while doing the same. At some point, I also open Apple’s Pages app and begin stringing words together.
The past few days, however, much of that routine was upended by a visiting friend. Instead of hanging out in my office, aka our guest room, I relegated myself to the kitchen and dealt with occasional interruptions. Rather than listening to new selections while out and about, and getting Diane’s oft-invaluable feedback, we traveled into the long ago via SiriusXM’s E Street Radio, as said friend doesn’t have access to the 24/7 Bruce Springsteen channel. (Given that I’m a fan, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice.)
As a result, today is the first day since last Tuesday that I’ve been able to devote the hours needed to fully synthesize new sounds. Stone Foundation’s The Revival of Survival, which came out Friday, is one example; typically, for a release I wasn’t provided a preview copy of, I play it incessantly until the melodies, rhythms and rhymes become one with my soul, and then dash off my thoughts in a few hours the next morning.
Merce Lemon’s Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild is another album I found myself drawn to in that same timespan; I was unfamiliar with her until Thursday, when she and her band opened for Cassandra Jenkins, and gave her nine-track long player a listen while running an errand on Saturday; it’s beyond solid, so I hope to spotlight it in the days ahead.
Much of that is beside the point, I suppose. In short, as I said above, my morning routine is remarkably consistent: I wake, roll out of bed, make and drink coffee, and listen to music while surfing the ‘net. I write. That’s it.
The Old Grey Cat 
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