Dear Michael (for Michael Hedges)

Once, while you were still alive,
I did interpretive dance to
Breakfast in the Field when
you opened for David Crosby
at the Filmore. That tune is
not the most danceable piece of
music in the world. But I
didn't care. I heard some guy
next to me say, "Wow, now
that's a real fan." When I was 17,
you were the incarnation of what
I wanted to be. Oddly, it's only
many years later I've been able to
digest your music fully enough
to be able to spit my own take
on it back out at the world.
Even more oddly, though I
aimed to emulate you and your
style all along, I now have no
choice in the matter. If I am to
continue as a guitarist, I must
co-opt your approach and
techniques wholesale. I
shudder to think where I'd
be now if I hadn't had so many
chances to see you and hear you
in person, if I didn't have the
chance to meet you once and
ask you plain questions about
what you did while you were
still with us. As I told you
when I met you, the first
moment I heard your music
when I was maybe thirteen,
it felt as though it was music
that had been with me
since forever. It's still with me too,
and still makes me want to sing
and dance as much as it ever did.
They may call me crazy,
Michael, when I start moving
my butt to one of your tunes,
but they don't know how much
richer my life is because of
you, they don't know how
deep your music runs in me.
They'd have to do a lot more
than call me names to keep me
from moving around the room
like some sort of madman when
the Funky Avocado comes on
my stereo. I know they never will,
so I'm happy dancing like I do
and remembering the way
the world once was, back when
Fine Young Cannibals were hip,
Sheila E. was in, and you danced
madly around the stage yourself,
barefoot with a bowler, leaving
everyone in the room without
words, not even wanting them anyway.
If you ever get bored, you know,
wherever you are, feel free to just
drop on by any time. On
second thought, that would probably
wig me out a little much. Maybe
we should just stick to the dreams
for now. You can wear your tights
and I'll pretend I can actually play
like you and we'll just have one big
Heavy Mental Hedges party.
Don't you dare miss it.
All my love, Adam

(2006)