So watching those Greenhornes last night, and thinking about their lives back in Cincinnati, Ohio, and what that might be like, well, it got me to thinking about my life in Portland, and, for whatever reason, my early years in Detroit, Michigan.

I was born there, and often wonder what my life might be like if mom and dad hadn’t moved Sarah and I north in 1976.

I think about that old Stout street, and the house I started life out in. I think about family members and my grandmothers who lived in Wixom and Dearborn. I think about Detroit bands and artists and movements. I think about Hungry Howies and Big Lots and digging through weird shit at a rough Sears outlet store. Such treasures. I think about Joe Louis’ fist. I think about the Windsor tunnel. I think about a time after a blistering Jesus Lizard show (?) at
St. Andrews where Steve’s Jeep was ripped off. I think about those goddamn Butthole Surfers at the Latin Quarter, and those hellish pink and yellow lights.
I think about Woodward Avenue and the zoo and buying Records in Royal Oak. I think about seeing Son Volt with Uncle Kevin. I think about seeing Mule and Shellac at this little dive Vet bar in the Cass Corridor, and fuckin’ sketchy that place is at night.

I think about the odd hopelessness that sorta goes with the Detroit situation, specifically, the deterioration of a strong Midwestern city, in a once-bustling downtown and ever-expanding suburbia. This kills me, as, I’d love to go back to my hometown at some point to try it out.

All this, while those Greenhornes were banging out their set.

I just get to wondering about that Midwest, a whole bunch.

Here’s some shots from a couple autumns back.