No song I know of better captures the fleeting but unbearable intensity of certain terrible urges. The urge to die, to do yourself in, of course, but also the urge to just obliterate yourself with cheap rot-gut alcohol and filthy, loveless sex — to try and hide your soul from the eyes of god behind the locked door of a motel room.
It was Liz Seidman who first played me the album this song is from, the soundtrack of “Fool For Love” by Sandy Rogers, probably in 1989. Sandy was Sam Shepard’s sister or something, and she had made this kind of surreal, sparse, Devastationalist country masterpiece. I don’t know who had first played it for Elizabeth, but when she passed it on to me she made sure that I understood it was something more than a run-of-the-mill music recommendation.
Despite the subsequent attentions of Quentin Tarantino (who used the song “Fool For Love” on the soundtrack of “Reservoir Dogs”), to my knowledge, this record has never been reissued on CD, though vinyl copies are not hard to track down. (This un-pristine MP3 was made from a cassette of a cassette of the vinyl record — you don’t have to listen closely to hear the snap-crackle-pop.)
There was a follow-up CD, “Green Moon,” that came out in the late 90s (about a decade after “Fool For Love”) which I ordered by phone from Rattle Records in Santa Rosa, California. In the course of the call, it became apparent that the phone number was the home phone number of the Sandy Rogers household and that I was indeed placing the order with Sandy herself, though I was way too shy to capitalize on this realization by either gushing or asking a pointed question.
It Comes and Goes (Sandy Rogers)