Happy Birthday, Johnny Cash.
My crowd celebrated with some Americana. Friday night it was Johnny Folsom Four at the Pour House. It was a success, other than the band neglecting to play my favorite. A Johnny Cash night with no “Ring of Fire?” But there was “Jackson,” and the “Wreck of the Old 97,” and of course “Walk the Line.” The outfits were impressive. The vocals were impressive. The dangerously exuberant crowd dancing was impressive. And dangerously exuberant, did I mention dangerous?
Saturday night, actual birthday night, I figured it was appropriate to wear all black, for Johnny. Black, and cowboy boots. We went to Wrinkle Neck Mules at Berkeley. It was a Charlottesville band, and lots of Charlottesville represented in the crowd. I thought the Wrinkle Neck Mules were great. My favorite of all this weekend, though, was Saturday night’s opening act, Peyton Tochterman. That one has some stories to tell. Sometimes he tells them, and sometimes he sings them. You’ll enjoy them, no matter how they turn up.
Just in time to celebrate, I got a little more music in the mail:
And so: Happy Birthday to the Man in Black. Wishing you all cowboy boots and harmonies, and a long-legged guitar pickin’ man for every big mouthed woman. Or, you know, whatever your thing is. I’ll raise a glass to that.