HOLLY GLEASON’S BLOG: “Why Don’t You Quit Leaving Me Alone”

You never hear them coming... the ones that level you, take away your breath, buckle your knees. Those songs that hit the sweetest spot: you find yourself completely disoriented from how squarely they bag the emotional bull's-eye, you're not just speechless-you're hoping nobody noticed. You never hear them coming... the ones that level you, take away your breath, buckle your knees. Those songs that hit the sweetest spot: you find yourself completely disoriented from how squarely they bag the emotional bull's-eye, you're not just speechless-you're hoping nobody noticed. It was in Pinehurst, N.C., a sleepy town that smells of evergreen and red dust, where it happened. Driving the little streets for no reason, listening to an advance cassette of Rosanne Cash's glorious patchwork quilt of John Hiatt and John Stewart, John Kilzer and Eliza Gilkyson, then-husband Rodney Crowell and her own genius originals and marveling at what happens at the intersection of taste of bravado. Surging, whirling, aching, laid bare, laid raw... It was the best of what Emmylou Harris does-find great songs, turn your soul inside out and stretch it over musicians who are taste, fromp and the pocket on steroids. Having won the Grammy for "I Don't Know Why You Don't Want Me" from the hush'n'freneticism Rhythm & Romance (1985), she was flying high, could do no wrong... and man, she was blazing. In a grey-green-black knot of long-haired firs, I'd pulled over to consider... to listen that voice that Bobby Bare once described as "wet" as it spread like a claret stain across an old linen table cloth. Slow moving,... Sign In to Keep Reading

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