Off late, I’ve been thinking once again about Verlyn Klinkenborg’s stylistic advice in Several Short Sentences About Writing.

Writing about all the wonderful music I have the good fortune of listening to should feel light. It should be a repeatable activity.

Writing certain things is a way to kick back, Relax, And start a dialogue with others about music I love.

How liberating to not conform to stuffy stylistic boxes like prose and poetry. How liberating to not think of writing as being either great or not-great. But to think of writing as a gerund. To think of writing as how it feels. I still like fragments and semicolons; I won’t take all of, or even most of, Klinkenborg’s advice. I would like to write like I speak.

Blind Melon’s debut album, released in 1992, sounds nothing like its contemporaries. Primary influences appear to be the psych-rock of the Dead, country, and folk.

No Rain is a great single.

But Change is the album’s standout. It’s a near-perfect song. It’s the first song Shannon Hoon, the lead singer, ever wrote. To add to the simplicity of its lyrics, it has one of the most affecting solos in nineties music. Few songs make me feel what *Change *makes me feel. When I listen to it I imagine an open, grassy field on a sunny but cool day. It’s 11 am. It’s the first day of summer break. I’m fifteen years old. This is the first day of the rest of my life.

In 1995, Shannon Hoon died while on tour. He was twenty-eight. When you read that on Wikipedia as a teenager, that sounds like a rockstar’s exit. As a thirty-four-year-old, it reads like it always should have: a tragedy.