Some People Talk to Themselves. I Sing to Myself.

There were times when we first lived in Nashville that were pretty dire, when we ate rice for dinner for weeks because it was cheap. When I was so sick and we didn’t know why. And I would find myself, often curled over the counter, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just singing without realizing it, “Everything’s going to be all right.” I was raised on lullabies, what can I tell you?

I believe in the power of music to soothe when nothing else will.

It’s funny, because I just sang it, over and over again. I never wondered where it came from. And then years later, when the Butcher was going through a substantial Peter Tosh period, I realized, it was, of course, a snippet of Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds,” which I must have picked up in college and carried with me until I needed it.

This morning, as I was walking the dog, I realized I was singing out-loud, “I’m for love. I’m all for happiness. I’m for–if you don’t like it, can’t you just let it pass?” and I laughed to myself and I thought, “Who the fuck sang that reasonable song and why the fuck can’t he have a talk with Hank Jr.”?

I know you already know where this is going. It was Hank Jr.

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