Outta Sight No More! For Woodstock’s Fiftieth, Our Band Is Leaving The Garage At Last

Photo by Edward Eyer on Pexels.com

Dig it! What the world needs now is to get back to sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll, and we’re here to help. We’re Billion-Year-Old Carbon, the last, great, undiscovered band from the Sixties, coming to you – finally – for Woodstock’s fiftieth.

We’re a diverse group: One cute, white guitarist you could bring home to your parents. A tormented, white guitarist you could brood over with your analyst. A deep, white guitarist who steals lyrics from Kierkegaard. And me, the guy with a garage.

In 1967, we became the voice of our generation. No one knew it at the time, because we were stuck in the garage with lots of weed, lava lamps, and unused sporting goods. But it was true.

In ‘68, we could have gone double-platinum with “Mrs. Robertson,” our song about a cougar and an innocent boy, but some guys wrote a piece just like it and got theirs into a movie, so back to the garage.

In ’69, we nearly went to Woodstock, which would have been awesome! Half a million children of God, all wading hip-deep in the mud to get back to the land, blowing their minds and each other! We were fired up, ready to go. But the promoters booked Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young instead, so we watched from the garage.

Then America went into its Dark Ages: Trickle-down economics, tax cuts for the rich, wealth porn, glamping. Suddenly, everything was about money – except music, where there was no money at all.

Now, our country needs us; we have to remind the U.S. of what it stands for. So we’re leaving the garage at last.

But to be honest, we’re a little worried about that. What if our songs are no good? What if we forget the lyrics? Sure, Jethro said you’re never too old to rock ‘n roll, but he never met us. We’re tragically unhip. I mean, literally; there’s not an original hip among us.

Still, America’s depending on us, poor thing. So this summer, look for us on a stage near you. We’ll be the four old coots, touring the country with our turn signal on, begging youngsters to fix our wifi, and griping that, as Billion-Year-Old Carbon, we’ve finally grown into our name.

But we’ll also carry an important truth, recalling the days when money was a crime; when it didn’t talk, it swore; when we didn’t care much for it, as it couldn’t buy us love.

America knew all that once, but forgot, so we’ll be preaching the word once more. We hope it moves you. And if you like it, please remember: We have merch! T-shirts, hoodies, baseball caps! Great for the whole family and perfect for back-to-school! Also, we take cash, Venmo, and all major credit cards. So stock up now, while supplies last. Please! Else, we’ll be stuck in the garage forever.

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