Alright, listen up, y’all. If you were cruisin’ around Florida in the ’70s with a guitar in your lap and the AM radio cranked, you know the sound. That sweet blend of country twang and rock and roll swagger? Yeah, that’s the stuff.
My wife actually turned me onto this one, and if you wanna know where a lot of that magic came from, you gotta read Bob Kealing’s Calling Me Home: Gram Parsons and the Roots of Country Rock. Now, I’ve read my share of music bios, and some of ’em are drier than a week-old cracker – you know what I’m talking about.
But this one? This one sings. Kealing gets Gram Parsons. He gets that cosmic cowboy vibe, that restless spirit, that hunger for something new. Gram, man, he wasn’t just playin’ music, he was livin’ it. And this book captures that fire. It takes you back to those hazy days, the clubs, the concerts, the whole damn scene. From The Byrds to The Burritos, Kealing lays it all out, the highs, the lows, the whole shebang. He digs deep – and I mean deep – into Gram’s influences, his struggles, the fire that drove him. And let me tell you, as a guy who’s been trying to play guitar since I could hold a six-string, I appreciate that attention to detail.
This book ain’t just a dry history lesson, it’s a story about a cat who changed the game. So, if you’re like me, if you grew up with the sounds of the South rockin’ your truck or mustang, do yourself a favor and grab a copy of Calling Me Home. You won’t regret it. It’s a damn good read about a damn good musician. Hell, it might even inspire you to dust off that old Telecaster.
You can get a copy of Calling Me From from University Press of Florida or Amazon
