One of the regular features of publications this time of year is a listing of folks who died in the year. I admit to being drawn to those, though I can’t really understand why. I read the news enough over the course of the year to generally know when famous folks die. Rarely do I read the year end lists of deaths and see a surprise. Still, I read those lists. Maybe I read them because I can, that is, because I am not among the departed (though of course I would hardly make those lists). I don’t know.
Anyway, in reading those I noted one grievous omission in most lists, even on Texas based publications. Even in the sub listings of song writers in many of the national publications, Guy Clark didn’t make the lists I read. Thankfully, he was recognized in Rolling Stone, and I suspect that would have been good enough for him. In a very short tribute to him, the magazine noted Clark was a “Texas troubadour who blended high wit with pure poetry and turned it into timeless, vibrantly visual songs.” I guess that’s as close as anyone can come to describing his music. But then it occurs to me that the magic of Guy Clark’s music, at least part of it, was that it never needed explaining. With his “high wit and pure poetry” he sang truth, and truth just is. Guy Clark’s truth, his music was/is, to quote him, “stuff that works, stuff that holds up, the kind of stuff you don’t hang on a wall. Stuff that’s real, stuff you feel, the kind of stuff you reach for when you fall.”
It occurs to me... 