Berättelse om en gitarr

Som många av er kanske har förstått så är jag sucker för bra historier. Huruvida de är sanna eller falska intresserar mig föga. Det viktigaste är berättelserna berör, underhåller eller lär mig nåt. Mitt stora intresse för film och musik bygger mycket på detta. I alla fall.

Guy Clark är en gammal man som jag fått upp ett öra för på sistone. En lysande historieberättare. Han kunde säkert blivit en stor författare. Nu har han istället blivit countrymusiker. Hans försiktiga knäppande på gitarren i kombination med hans skrovliga stämma räcker långt, men i första hand är det hans historier som fångat mitt intresse. Jag kan rekommendera de som har samma sjukdom som mig att lyssna på hans liveskiva "Songs and storys".

Här är i alla fall en sång/historia jag fastnar för denna fredagskväll:

Well, I was passing by a pawn shop
In an older part of town
Something caught my eye
And I stopped and turned around

I stepped inside and there I spied
In the middle of it all
Was a beat up old guitar
Hanging on the wall.

What do you want for that piece of junk
I asked the old man
He just smiled and took it down
and he put it in my hand

He said you tell me what it's worth
You're the one who wants it
Turn it up, play a song
And let's just see what haunts it

So I hit a couple of cords
In my old country way of strumming
And then my fingers turned to lightning
Man.. I never heard it coming

It was like I always knew it
I just don't know where I learned it
It wasn't nothin' but the truth
So I just reared back and burned it

Well I lost all track of time
There was nothing I couldn't pick
Up and down the neck
I never missed a lick

The guitar almost played itself
There was nothing I could do
It was getting hard to tell
Just who was playing who

When I finally put it down
I couldn't catch my breath
My hands were shaking
And I was scared to death

The old man finally got up
Said where in the Hell you been
I've been waiting all these years
For you to stumble in

Then he took down an old dusty case
Said go on and pack it up
You don't owe me nothing
And then he said good luck

There was something spooky in his voice
And something strange on his face
When he shut the lid
I saw my name was on the case