Cooling Board: A Long Playing Poem

Troubadour, 1971

58 • TrOubADOur, 1971 California sisters don’t sit back, they sing back—sip gin & tonics, slap a girlfriend’s shoulder, shout “Go ’head” & “That’s all right” from the tables by the exit. We are music: You, backup without microphones, stand-ins for Roberta on “You Got a friend”; me, a midnight declaration through the heat of red lights, electric keys. Sing, sing with me 59 • California sisters, like the marquee bears your name, & the man who wouldn’t spring for a ticket can hear you carry on from the couch at home. Sing, like the bartender’s last call is the last call you’ll ever hear, & you can’t leave until you hit every note just so. Sing, sing with me California sisters, over brick thick cigarette smog, the off-beat clap of Mr.one-Whisky-Too-Many, the hip 60 • slap & shake of a crescent tambourine rattling like a gourd of cowrie shells, Angel City cat call, ancient bell. Earl summons a conga pop with the cup of his hands, Phil picks & skips, teases a tip-toe rhythm low E to high. Willie pulls those four strings into a trance that thumps through our chests & the scream starts in the front row hits the back wall & Marshall reverb hums over our bowed heads— 61 • each & every hand caught in a soul clap, inseparable song: no instrument greater than the next. Sing, sing with me California sisters. This is no place to live unheard. ...