Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Patrick Stolley
There doesn't seem to be enough alcohol in the house tonight to make it a real old man night, even if that's all that's wanted. It's been a week that has flown by as it's dragged. It feels like months have passed because sleep has been hard to come by. The rings around the bottom curves of the eyes are looking like tires or fleshy moons. There's not enough alcohol in the house tonight to make the previous week more able to be stomached. All that's available was one lonely can of Budweiser. It was dressed up with patriotic bunting around the top and bottom curvatures and it's gone now. It didn't last long and one more check of the humming fridge confirmed the worst.
All of this mood is partially due to our own week and partially due to listening to Brown Shoe's song, "Goodnight Old Man," a song sparked from a realization that this particular man has no one around any more to tell him what he can and cannot do, so he's defaulting morosely back into his old habits of heavy drinking. It's the first thing that he thinks of to kill the time and fill the space in his head. If he drinks fast enough, the head can wash in amber drink sooner and then there's less to fear, less to remember.
The band, consisting of vocalist/guitarist Ryan Baggaley, bassist Bryson Baggaley, guitarist Aaron Baggaley, guitarist Chandler Clemons and drummer Landon Baggaley, gives you a feeling that you're sitting in a worn out chair - with the springs jabbing you in the lower back - in a house that sitting at the end of a road that no one drives on. Even less people seem to be driving by these days. It's lonely. It's heartbreakingly, goddamn fucking lonely out here, where they bring us. You can be sure that the man in this song has thought of all his essentials and there's nothing but beer and Kentucky bourbon in the house. It reeks of insouciance and forfeiture. Oddly enough, that smell is still one that can exist as a betrayal to a golden and beautiful morning that could break so cruelly and calculatingly across a face, through the break in the drapes. That man will get up again and immediately wonder if he's going to go to bed the same way again tonight.