17 DEC 05
Last summer, I heard him talking on the radio--soft spoken, somebody you'd like. A new album. But in the fall, scheduled gigs were cancelled. Then the news that he was very ill. His songs often playing in our kitchen.
Morning of the first snow, Max (after shoveling the path out to the
studio, firing up the furnace) wakes me, his cool rough face by my ear, whispers: "Offending the ice age, you're the one." There's often one song, an identifier--the one that'd always bring you back. Back to those bitter-cold weeks after Thanksgiving, 2005.
Chris Whitley. Resonator guitar tuned way low. "I like it low." The sound that came through him. His breathing, his heart.
31 Aug 1960 - 20 Nov 2005
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