Man, you dig the Evolution of the Pig, and let me tell ya, it’s like the hippest trip through my own wild symphony. R.E.M., man, they’re the cats who set the fire, especially with their Document jam back in ’87. “The One Love” was the mojo, the vibe that whispered in my ear, said, “This is the rhythm you wanna swing, man.”
Down in the deep south, where R.E.M. spun tales like a twister, I felt the mojo, the characters, the scenes. So I took that feel, that vibe, and let the Pig run wild. Yeah, the Pig – this dystopian crew, a political party throwin’ shadows over society till folks decided it was time to break free.
First up, “In Disguise,” a ten-minute voyage into the soul. College days in East Peoria, Illinois, jammin’ with cats at Illinois Central College. Shared my tunes, laid down the struggle between my spiritual journey and the music in my bones. Found a small, cheap Casio keyboard for 60 bucks, opened up a whole new soundscape. And on “In Disguise,” snagged a radio program off the airwaves, spiced it up, gave it a haunted vibe.
“Song for You,” a love letter in notes. Spring of ’88, a girlfriend in the frame, and the next few albums would sing her name.
“She Ain’t Lying,” man, that’s the real talk. About a girl chasing shadows, a silent truth-slinger. Early REM vibes, a bit of Velvet Underground twist. Echoes of “eleven gallows on your sleeve,” borrowed from REM’s Perfect Circle. It’s that dance of words, man.
“Fly Again,” that’s the Led Zeppelin flight. Soaring through the Hindenburg crash of ’37, Tuesday hanging loose in the lyrics. Hoped Zep would rise again, my high school and college heartbeat.
“Wood and Stone,” the engineering vibe. First year, laying bricks of a spartan society.
“Dozer,” the cruisers in my life, drifting on the edges, doing just enough.
“500 Miles,” a folk trio nod for my mom, the travelin’ and distance in the notes.
“There’s Something There,” the weight on the soul, the mystery pressing down.
“New City Man,” The Pig’s rep knocking on doors, promising the moon, delivering less. “The Gilded Cage,” that sense of doom hanging in the air.
Evolution of the Pig, man, it’s my own beatnik odyssey. A trip through shadows, whispers, and the soul’s midnight dance.
