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I was watching ESPN after work one evening, and when supper was ready, I left the TV on when I went into the kitchen. Minutes later, I heard a laugh track coming from the other room. Since I didn't know of any ESPN shows with a laugh track, I went back in the living room to check.
The TV was now tuned to "Married. . .With Children," and my cat was sitting on the couch. Now, I understand how a cat can operate a remote, but what was sweet little Lizzie doing watching that show?
Story behind the song
Sknoblogger and Icepac were delighted, though not excessively surprised, with the success of 13, which raced up to the middle reaches of charts on multiple continents. It charted particularly high in Antarctica, where several scientists took it to heart.
At long last they were able to pay off their back taxes and overdue library book fines, so they were able to re-enter the United States. They dreamed of returning to the salad days when Crossword was being played on dance floors everywhere, being remixed by industry giants like DJ Xanadude, and everybody they worked with, from beach bums in Cyprus to Brazilian photographers became international stars in their own right.
However, that was many years ago, and our boys knew they had some serious career rebuilding to do, so they accepted an opening spot on a Neil Young tour. It was a step down from the headliner status they were used to, but they knew it was only a matter of time until they were back on top.
Things did not go according to plan, however. There were weird tensions on the tour from the beginning. Remote Possibility sets were plagued by technical difficulties and equipment problems. They were plagued by constant small problems that kept them off balance; broken strings, bad pots, out –of-tune instruments. Many people suspect that people in Neil Young’s camp, perhaps Neil himself, were jealous of Remote Possibilities musical mastery, particularly Sknoblogger’s rich baritone, which, it has been said, caused Neil to feel no end of insecurity when he compared it to his own high, thin nasal whine.
All this is speculation. What history does record is that the morning after one gig in South Carolina in which RP did an especially fine job of transcending the difficulties of that tour, they woke up to find that the tour had departed without them.
An apologetic desk clerk at the hotel they were staying at handed them a note that read, “Boys, it’s been real, and it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun. Eat a peach, Neil.â€
They were devastated, and financially ruined. Uncertain where to turn next, they fortuitously got a phone call from their old friend, Minnesota Slims, the owner and operator of Harmsiphonic Studios in Minnesota. He was eager to work with them again, and invited them to come out to his sprawling Paisley Park-like recording facilities.
They accepted, but unwilling to admit that they were destitute and discarded, they resolved to hitchhike to Minnesota, and never mention the unpleasant events vis-a-vis Neil Young. After a series of shot hops that left them stranded for a few hours in Kentucky, they counted their blessings when they were picked up by a long haul trucker who was on his way to Hibbing. Soon their gratitude turned to fear as it developed their benefactor was quite mad. He ranted like a maniac, and when he fixed his mad stare on his passengers, he seemed to disregard the road entirely. Many, many close calls, and many, many hours of babble about tin hats, the Kennedy assassination, higher vibrational planes and the Portland Trail Blazers later, our boys found themselves at the front gate of Harmsaphonic Studios.
Shaken and sleepless and forgetting their pride, they poured out the story of their perilous journey to Slims, who suggested that they should write and record a song about this incident. This is that song.
Lyrics
I got into my semi and I drove all night
Pills and lines and needles I was high as a kite
Please don't tell my mama bout the trouble that I'm in
Coked up in Kentucky with the bluegrass boys again
Got a brick holding down the gas petal
Bobby Bare's singing on the stereo
Pigen's preachin seven sermons to the dead
On the CB radio
The dialtone to my cellphone buzzes with encrypted words
And the voices in the streetlights are nattering like birds
Is this paranoia, or is it true,
Do I really know about the things I think I do?
Is this just hallucination
Or Divine elucidation?
I can still hear Pigpen sermonizing to the dead
On the CB Radio
I'm looking for the answers In the towns I'm passing through
In the billboards and the traffic lights I'm looking for a clue...
Please don't tell my mama bout the trouble that I'm in
Coked up in Kentucky with the bluegrass boys again
Coked up in Kentucky with the bluegrass boys again
Coked up in Kentucky with the bluegrass boys again
