Let’s just say, theoretically, that some of your family is in town visiting for Thanksgiving weekend and, theoretically, your 72-year-old mother brings you a few gifts, like freshly dried seaweed, homemade hummus (green with pureed parsley), and a circus clown tin full of Mexican Wedding Cakes laced with greenbud marijuana, which, theoretically, you eat two of and the next day you are crazy hung-over and all you want to do is lay in bed and watch old re-runs of Leave It To Beaver but you have to write this blog you’re now reading. Theoretically.
What music do you listen to?
Frankly, the whole scenario is a bit far-fetched, and I’m not sure why you’re even bringing it up. Certainly nothing like this is what I’m going through right now, because marijuana is illegal and I’ve never even heard of it.
But, if I were in such a ridiculous situation, I suppose the sort of thing I would enjoy listening to would be this…
The Ahmad Jamal Trio makes wherever you are feel like the inside of a soothing bubble bath. With Epsom salts. It’s especially good music when you’re fatigued but don’t want to be, because it relaxes the entire environment, and suddenly your slow pace and barely functioning mind don’t seem so out-of-place. You’re no longer fatigued – now you’re just a cool, kick-back cat with no tick-tock countdown to the ringer, dig?
Beverly Kenney, the lady with the sweet and pretty voice that did nothing to assuage the demons inside her. Although admired and appreciated among the jazz world’s most astute connoisseurs, fame for her was fickle and fleeting (she's big in Japan, as they say). It certainly didn’t help that her star was ascending just as rock & roll was replacing jazz at the forefront of popular music. Kenney hated rock & roll and, ultimately, hating being alive, so she stopped doing it at age 28 after a hearty meal of booze and pills.
This back-story of misery and suicide can help give your tired ass a little perspective, and make you feel like a chump for getting so run-down from just a little pot cookie.
I love these guys. They are Los Bribones, which means The Skull-Crushers of the Apocalypse. (Maybe. I don’t speak Spanish so I can only speculate.) While I’ve spent many hours enjoying their music, I know very little about them. Most websites discussing them do so in Spanish (which was also their native language – coincidence?!?) Luckily, my dear friend, Google Translator, offered to translate a quick bio about them into English:
Do not tell the unforgettable duet of Los Bribones, formed by these two great artists: Ignacio Irigoyen and Fernando Ocampo, belongs to a bygone era, because it is still in the minds of us all unique way of interpreting his songs, but as if know that these great songbooks for own merits are already in the gallery of the consecrated, we have formed this collection with 21 of his greatest hits, because we know you want to have it in their collection unforgettable.
Nacho Irigoyen nice guy and owner of overwhelming sympathy, being an organ virtuoso decided to direct his steps so popular, and finding in Fernando Ocampo, a young journalist with noble and healthy feelings, the ideal partner and friendly voice ready, not more thought and invited you to join the hard trodden path of complete success.
Traduje esta usando mi equipo, por lo que es todo desordenado!
Whether you understand their lyrics or not, when you’ve got a pot hang-over and still have to play host to your visiting family, there’s nothing like Los Bribones softly playing over the stereo speakers – it will fill you with noble and healthy feelings and own you overwhelming sympathy.
I hope this offers you some help in your silly predicament. Next time your mommy offers you illegal snack foods, make sure she also packs enough to share with the rest of the class.