“ Damn, damn, damn, Ol’ Death is a Buzzard that swoops down upon us from time to time.
Fortunately I believe our spirits will transcend Earthly Mud, sailing around the stars on a paper airplane.”
Joe Ely - Bonfire of Roadmaps -
I awoke hungover after another brutal nightshift. Ive been sick for a week, coughing up dry nothingness and struggling to sleep all while trying hard to steer the ship and managing another batch of sick animals in the herd back home. I have some days off now and that usually lifts my spirit significantly , but this morning the universe seems to be conspiring against my peace of mind, offering no respite to the feeling that’s been eating at my soul for quite some time. It was well past ten am when I opened my eyes but the normal white light edge around the blockout curtain was not there. I rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. It was raining in the desert !! The Gulf looked gloomy and the streets were shiny in the pale morning air. Streetlights blurred green and red through the raindrops on my window. With steaming coffee in hand I did my customary quick scroll through social media.
I primarily use social media as a tool to stay up to date with the news about my friends abroad, my favourite artists and their touring schedules, album releases and newsletters. Also, I am frequently amazed and inspired by the painters, craftsmen and photographers that capture and make accessible the magnificent world we live in. It has been a rough couple of weeks. First it was Todd Snider’s untimely death, then Raul Malo, the lead singer of the Country/Latin American road warriors The Mavericks and then the murder of South African rapper, political commentator and businessman, DJ Warras. I could write an essay on each one of these incredible humans and my heart is broken about their loss. They leave a void that can never be filled and they will be missed by many for years to come. While scrolling, my eye caught picture after picture, posted by his peers and fans and I could feel my soul slowly sinking…. It was true, Joe Ely had passed away. It felt unreal reading the caption. Joe had finally lost the battle against Dementia, Parkinsons and Pneumonia. A smile broke through the shock and tears on my face as I realized that of course, these ailments would have to conspire and be working against him. It seems from Joe’s songs and writing that he pretty much lived his life with the cards stacked against him, his art and most importantly, his way of life.
Born in Amarillo, Texas and growing up in Lubbock, the birthplace of Buddy Holly and many other unique Texan writers and creatives, Joe was part of an artistic subculture, driven by the quest for creative freedom, hard working road warrior spirit and the pursuit of the muse in the flat as a skillet plains of West Texas. Joe famously picked up a hitchhiker one afternoon, giving him a ride to the side of town where a traveler could hitch a ride. That scarecrow looking stranger turned out to be Townes van Zandt, the enigmatic and tortured troubadour who reached inside his backpack and handed Joe a copy of his groundbreaking first record. This is just one of hundreds of stories Joe lived in his 78 years on this earth. Many others were immortalized in his character rich “movies in three minutes” songs, his books and his tall tales graciously shared with fans, interviewers and podcasters. Joe was a songwriters songwriter and he worked constantly, toured hard and led by example. I own two copies of Joe’s book, Bonfire of Roadmaps. One is a paperback, road worn, my favourite passages underlined, full of coffee stains and corners pig-eared. It bears the evidence of my own travels and adventures, my trusty companion through miles of artistic endeavours.
I am finishing this, sitting on a deserted beach on the Northeast coast. The rain clouds have cleared and with fresh sunshine and stable conditions I know that the chances are slim to none encountering people on the beach. Ive got my steel foldout table set up, a Joe Ely playlist on the bluetooth speaker and ice rattling in a glass of cheap gin and gas station club soda. The Persian Gulf is peacefully lapping against the shore as the tide is rolling in and the breeze feels fresh and salty in the afternoon light. I will admit that I am hurting today. I don’t need consolation. I just want to admit it. Besides, very few will even reach this part of the blog, long distracted by another algorithm or twenty second snippet. Apart from challenges on the farm and some upsets in my life in general I find it hard to process my heroes falling like ancient trees, my friends scattered like dead leaves in a park. I am struggling with the realisation, slowly setting in that whatever expectation of lasting relationships I had are gradually receding in the rearview mirror of life. It seems that my expectations of some of the people in my life were unrealistic and that the joke is on me. It seems to me that most people in our lives are only there as long as they can get something from you and gain some ground in this world. It is a tough pill to swallow but I am catching on. I will let people decide the rules of engagement and interaction from now on.
One thing is for sure. Joe Ely was not afraid of making a “ bonfire of roadmaps “ and bravely setting out on some new, uncharted path or country road. He was forever curious, filled with empathy, lonely as hell but knowing that chasing the long white line of the highway will bring new adventures, new lovers and new songs to share with lost, forgotten and lonely souls out there, unable to put their own lives into words.
JB
