After a number of delays in our flight, the first of which was quite welcome as we learned about it before going to bed and it let us sleep later, we have arrived in New York for the memorial of George Jr.
In recent months I've written a couple of times about Jason Molina, how greatly enriching and encouraging it is to encounter a major voice from out of the blue, and of the irony of how happy it makes me to have made the acquaintance of so deeply melancholy a soul.
Molina's sadness resonates with me in particular because it is a shame that I discovered him not long after George Jr died. When I first came into the Berridge family, George Jr wss first and foremost a Neil Young fan, and there's a lot of Young in Molina's voice. But then he keeps going to places Young never got. Molina is quieter, more personal and lyrical. He speaks for himself where Young spoke for a generation. In recent weeks I haven't been able to quit listening to him or begin listening to anyone else. I do hope George had made his acquaintance before he passed on, or that perhaps they've become acquainted up there wherever the souls go.
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