Eliminating the comments portion of this blog, I tend to believe that nobody’s really reading this thing.
Mason Jennings came over for a dinner party while I was at Dan’s, mixing; he told me that while he was on tour, people kept coming up to him and asking him about things I’d said on this blog. His bass player, Chris, asked him, at one point, “Are you having to field questions about stuff Doughty wrote on his blog?”
Apparently, one fan asked him about something she’d heard secondhand: a friend in Finland had read the blog and told her about it.
I was embarrassed: I wondered if I had revealed something he didn’t want revealed publicly. The fact is, I tend to think of this blog as a personal piece that few actually read. I guess not, huh?
I naturally tend towards candid self-revelation; maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I apologized to Mason, and he said, “No, man; I think it can be beautiful. I just wanted to know your take on it.”
Mason Jennings is my secret pretend spiritual boyfriend. Despite his the severity of his sound–the unadorned acoustic guitar and rhythm section, eschewing all ornaments–a sound that I myself adore, and I go through obsessive periods of listening to “Century Spring” and “Use Your Voice (in fact, whenever I’m in his presence, I can barely avoid humming “Lemon Grove Avenue,” much to my embarrassment)–Mason is firmly in the transcendentally-minded, spiritually aware camp.
He’s the second most surprising covert hippie friend of mine, after David Johansen, who, despite inventing punk rock, quotes the Upanishads, followed the Dead around in the early 70s, and in this modern day and age actually wears patchouli.
I think perhaps I should put out some more secret-message questions that will filter through Finnish fans and reach him thirdhand: “Mason, is it true that Chris has a peg-leg, and that you are the inventor of the clothespin?”