I Have A Hot Memory,

I Spent Most Of The Eighties, Most Of My Life, Riding Around In Somebody Else's Car, In Possession Of, Or Ingested Of, Something Illegal, On My Way From Something Illegal To Something Illegal With Many Illegal Things Happening All Around Me

Onstage I've Been Hit By A Grapefruit, Beercans, Eggs, Spit, Money, Cigarette Butts, Mandies, Quaaludes, Joints, Bras, Panties, And A Fist.

And For So Long, I Had Thought If I Was Going To Write A Song, Or Get "into" Something, I Had To At Least Smoke A Joint Or Something. And That Didn't Work Anymore. Once I Was Fairly Well Cleaned Out, Even A Little Bit Of A Drug Getting Into My Work Threw Me Off Kilter.

I Have No Idea Why A Guy Would Bring A Jar Of Peanut Butter To A Concert.

I'd Come Home From School Alone With Those Teenage Blues And I'd Put On Frank Sinatra's It Was A Very Good Year. Here Was This Mature Man Singing About The Cycle Of His Life, And As A Kid I Felt The Emotions Of It Already. It Has Since Been A Touchstone For Me Whenever I Want To Experiment Musically.