The last half of a cinnamon crunch bagel lathered with cream cheese eyes me across the table.) And thought: Now, that is as sweet as a Panera’s cinnamon crunch bagel (which, um, is on my mind as I type this-at a Panera’s. In any case, we had another singalong in that Quakerville living room last month, where Simon taught a group of us “Wild Mountain Thyme.” I flipped my smartphone recorder on. Himself (as the Irish say) needs to be in the studio. He has the kind of sure, compelling, resonant voice whose DNA strands weave through such disparate voices as James Taylor, Ed Sheeran, Jackson Browne, Art Garfunkel and… Upon opening his lips to share his first song, my buddy and I were instant fans. “Hey, you guys mind if I play some with you?” He was thin as a rail with long rockstar hair. Last time there, my retreatant buddy and I camped out in the living room one night to sing songs with a few fellow travelers. I was on retreat at a Quaker retreat center in Pennsylvania. This sweet, gorgeous Scots-Irish tune (faeries and remarriages are involved, stay with us) didn’t finally etch itself into the soft tissue of my hippocampus until last month. You’d think after several decades of singer-songwriting, on stage and in coffeeshops, in West Virginia song circles and even once on the midnight streets of Venice, somewhere along the way I’d have learned “Wild Mountain Thyme.”
Subscribe for free at: īy DOUGLAS JOHN IMBROGNO | | March 5, 2020 NOTE from DOUGLAS: I’ve launched a new email newsletter for this site that’ll send you updates of new posts. “Wild Mountain Thyme”-this is an afternoon’s scratch session by The Scribblers (which will be my new band’s name once I have one).
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