Bruce, Bourbon, And Books: Wreck on the Highway to Bull Mountain

This series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

By Daniel Ford

Bruce

Since author Brian Panowich has become a mentor/Twitter friend, I let him choose the Springsteen song that would accompany my review of his debut novel Bull Mountain (which is available starting July 7). Much to my chagrin, his first choice was “Adam Raised A Cain,” a song I once described in this column as “redundant and uninspired.” I sent him back to the drawing board and he came back with the splendidly depressing “Wreck on the Highway.” Better yet, Panowich gave us permission to re-publish the following short story, which is included in Trouble in the Heartland: Crime Fiction Based on the Songs of Bruce Springsteen. The story features a loose end from Bull Mountain, but he assured me it doesn’t contain any spoilers.

Wreck on the Highway By Brian Panowich

I shuffle a crooked cigarette out of the pack and carefully drop it into my mouth. Of the three left in the box, it was the only one left that wasn’t broken. I was favored by the gods.

No light. Shit.

I should have known better. I just let the damn thing hang there, and stare out the window. The sun is coming up, although from this angle it looks like it’s coming down. I have a perfect view, as if the skyline adjusted itself just for me. I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about a sunrise right now if I didn’t have this sudden forced moment of peace. I think about how many times people wake up to that big ball of fire smiling at them, and nobody gives a good goddamn? They just keep running in the same circles, making the same mistakes, competing for the same nickel.

Like me.

I look at Frankie hanging next to me. He’s sleeping through the moment. I let him. He wouldn’t give a shit anyway. I try to remember the last time I watched a sunrise, but it’s hard to think. My head is still foggy. I’m pretty sure, the last time was from the hood of Scabby Mike’s Model T just south of Bull Mountain with…

Hillary.

Aw, Hill baby, I’m sorry. I fucked everything up again. But you knew I would, didn’t you? You knew there was no such thing as one last time. That’s why you said goodbye when you left. You never used to say goodbye. I should be sitting in your kitchen right now, drinking your coffee, watching the sun come up with you. Not with Frankie. Not like this.

There’s a scarecrow just past the edge of the cornfield to my right. He must have been on his coffee break a few minutes ago. Way to go, asshole. Nobody takes pride in their jobs these days. Nobody cares. Well, you don’t have to worry about it now, buddy. That’s a little over seventy-five grand blowing all over your hometown, so maybe now you can climb your lazy ass down off that post and retire. Go tell Mrs. Scarecrow you hit the jackpot off of some poor bastard’s bad luck.

Speaking of poor bastards, Frankie’s head is starting to look like an eggplant. I pull my knife from my jacket pocket, and cut his seat belt. He falls straight down with a hard thud. That woke him up.

“Gimmie a light.”

He doesn’t even hesitant to try get his bearings first. He digs his Zippo out of his pocket with his good hand and tosses it over. I light up and the rush of smoke is a stream of battery acid down my throat.

“The fuck happened?” Frankie says.

“A bird, I think.”

“A bird?” He tries to right himself by grabbing at the back seat above him, but can’t.

He’s busted up pretty good.

“Yeah, a big one.”

He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a thick, wet cough that sprays blood all over the roof below us. He ain’t got long. I put my cigarette to his lips and he takes a grateful drag.

All better.

“Where’s the money?” he says. Now it’s my turn to laugh, as I look out the window and see the bills scattered like confetti all over the two-lane road.

“Frankie, my friend, I think we went through a lot of trouble just to end up paying off some farmer’s bank loan.”

More laughing. More coughing. More blood.

I ask him if he can see the sunrise. He doesn’t bother to answer. I knew he wouldn’t care. Hillary would. That’s all that would matter to her right now. She’d hold my hand right up to the end, which is pretty close now, because I’m beginning to hear the sirens.

I keep my gun in my boot, but I can’t reach it. My legs are so twisted up; I don’t even think they can qualify as legs any more. I’d be screaming hysterical in pain right now if it wasn’t for all the Oxy pumping through me. Thank God for the miracle of prescription medication.

“Can you reach your gun?” I ask, “Mine’s stuck.”

No answer.

“Frankie?”

No answer. He’s gone. Shit. Sorry buddy.

I take one last drag and tamp out the bloody butt on the asphalt. Then I reach over and pull my dead friend a little closer until the .38 in his armpit shows itself.

The sun is high above me now. It’s a new day. The sirens are all over the place. I tell Hillary I’m sorry one more time and put the snub-nose to my head.

I’m never going back.

No bullets. Shit.

Bourbon

Fun fact: Fiction editor Dave Pezza and I shared an office at our day job for so long that we would be considered common-law married in some states. Our professional lives deviated a couple of weeks ago (excluding Writer’s Bone, of course), but we sent each other off the only way we knew how: with a bottle of brown alcohol. Dave gifted me Maker’s Mark 46, which I’m currently imbibing while refreshing my email waiting for a literary agent to be wowed by my query letter (or the sack of money I sent). For those of you who have gotten their hands on an advanced reader copy of Bull Mountain may question this pairing, preferring perhaps that I chose a less sophisticated bourbon given the book's setting. However, from now on, this bottle will signify to me an end and a beginning: the end of being in close proximity to one of my closest friends, and the beginning of an exciting time where both of us get to shine editorially during our waking hours. To me, Maker’s Mark 46 tastes like brotherhood, something the main characters in Bull Mountain know a thing or two about.

Book

Inspired by The Band’s “Up on Cripple Creek,” Brian Panowich’s debut novel Bull Mountain is a welcome addition to the quality Southern noir we’ve reviewed during the past year. The novel, which Apple and Amazon just named one of their top picks for July, follows the Burroughs clan throughout several decades in the North Georgia Mountains. At the center of the story stands Clayton Burroughs, the sheriff of Waymore Valley, an honest man standing at the foot of a corrupt mountain. A shadowy Federal agent gives him an opportunity by to finally extricate his family name from drug running and death, however, his hillbilly crime lord brother wants no part of any such redemption.

The narrative spans several generations of Burroughs men, always at odds with themselves, their kin, and the innocent bystanders in their wake. As with many of the other crime novels we’ve featured recently, this one shines because of its literary dedication to its main characters. They feel as old and familiar as the book’s mountain setting and are hardwired into the plot in a dramatically complex way. I’ll also echo author Steph Post’s thoughts in a recent podcast interview (which goes live on Monday), and say that Panowich’s lead chapter is a master class in how to start a novel. It feels as if the story was hatched on a foggy mountain outcrop and shot onto the page by a hunting rifle.

Fathers and brothers may be the bedrock of Bull Mountain, but the female characters are the soil that allows it to grow wildly. If you’re not in love with Clayton’s wife Kate by the end of the tale, then you are someone I never want to share brown liquor with. She’s more than just a Southern bell standing behind her lawman; she’s as conflicted as her male counterparts, tough as mountain stone, and has the force of a supernova when the blood starts rolling down toward the valley.

Be warned, there’s a good chance this book is going to light your house on fire, but don’t worry, Panowich is a firefighter. I’m sure he’ll squelch the flames as long as you share your bourbon.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bob, Bourbon, and Books: Knausgaard and the A-Changin' Times

This series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bob

Daniel: Take this lesson to heart as an aspiring author: “Don’t stand in the doorway/don’t block up the hall.” Have something to say and communicate it well. And if you don’t’ have anything to say, get the hell out of the way and make room for the people striving to have their art noticed.

Also, audiences change, technology upgrades, and writers evolve. Don’t waste the reader’s time by rehashing old ideas and characters because “your old road is rapidly agin’.” We need more rule breakers and less marketing plans.  Don’t worry about the advance, the movie rights, or your book’s positioning in a bookstore. You’ve got one job as a writer: Making your prose as great as it can possibly be. If it is, all the rest will fall into place.  

Dave: Soooo my post about this song is going to be way less inspirational and “go got ‘em” than Daniel’s. I’ve never really regarded this song as the 1960s civil rights movement anthem it was intended to be. To me “The Times Are A-Changin’” is a cautionary tale about life, ideas, and growth. Dylan sings about change as a quickly building flood of water, engulfing and encompassing everything. You’re only way out is to join it and float above it. When you’re walking about civil rights or suffrage or peace that flood seems righteous and necessary, and you sit safely in the ark of justification. But change is not always unequivocally good or right; and it isn’t always dangerous and evil either. Sometimes change is a new job, significant other, city, or maybe a whole new life. What is significant about change is that it is almost as universal as death. Everything changes, always. Some things change slower than other, some in small almost unnoticeable ways, but nothing escapes entirely. So what of it then, Dave? What to do about an inescapable force. Well you join it, naturally, if you want to survive that is. If you don’t, you surely will sink like a stone. Get moving it, get with it, wo/man up; the times are a-changin’.

Bourbons

Daniel: Author David Joy has been on me for weeks to try Elmer T. Lee. I haven’t been able to get my hands on a bottle yet, however, I was inspired to re-double my efforts after witnessing the dedication shown by author Brian Panowich in the tweet below.

@danielfford @DavidJoy_Author @michael_f_smith @m_o_walsh I smuggled Elmer T onto the plane via shampoo bottles... pic.twitter.com/ZVOSHnWtgX

— Brian Panowich (@BPanowich) May 27, 2015

Dave: We haven’t really touched upon Booker’s yet, but it’s time has come. Booker’s is one of Jim Beam’s small patch premium bourbons. It has the highest alcohol content of any of Jim Beam’s other products (between 60.5 percent and 65.30 percent alcohol by volume depending on the barrel). It’s basically some pretty hard kicking uncut booze. I never developed a taste for it as much as my older brother and some of bourbon lovers I know. For me this bourbon’s taste is a little but overpowered by its strength, but it’ll kick you off your seat for sure, and I always appreciate a spirit like that. Be prepared to spend a little bit more than you might hope because of the high alcohol content, but I’d say a good chunk of that cash is worth it.

Book

Dave: I was turned onto Karl Ove Knausgaard and the first of a six (yeah, I said six!)-part novel entitled My Struggle (one can only assume Knausgaard is more than aware of history of this title and is toying with its seriousness is erudite ways I’m not sure I totally understand). The book is an autobiographical fiction narrative, encompassing true people and true events under the veil of fiction. I was sold right there. Any writer of fiction loves the loose and ambiguous pathway between reality and imagination. It reads a bit like the longest essay you have ever read, but his attention to detail and pace lead me to believe this novel stays very true to its ambiguous device. Knausgaard is witty and serious and damned deep all the time all at once. His prose is readable but careful and precise. His flow and pace is uncanny. I think the book is so well wrought that despite a discernable plot or climax, I’m still enjoying nearly every page and will be picking up Book 2 in the very near future. Like other colossal prose writers like David Foster Wallace or James Joyce, there is some lag time before you really pick up on Knausgaard’s style. But once you’ve trained yourself on his tics and quirks and wonderful asides, his prose really shines. I’d hate to make an overly glowing review, but I honest can’t say anything entirely bad about him or this work. It’s not for everyone, and if you’re big on plot or characters I’d say borrow don’t buy, but if you like good writing (and good translating—really well done by Don Bartlett) then you must give it a look.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: Rough Rider Sets Sail With The Boatmaker

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

By Daniel Ford

Bruce

I needed an earthy tune to pair with John Benditt’s The Boatmaker, a hymn ingrained in ancient soil.

I’ve been a huge fan of artists covering traditional music throughout the last decade (particularly Springsteen’s “We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions” and Neil Young’s “Americana”), so I didn’t mind replaying Bruce’s album with a glass of Rough Rider in my hand. I chose “Pay Me My Money Down” because it features many things that also appear in The Boatmaker: money, power, fighting, drinking, disrespect, and racism (be sure to check out this blog post to learn more about the song’s African-American history, as well as several renditions). Money almost becomes its own character in Benditt’s debut novel, so I can imagine the lesser workers on the Mainland singing this song after a few pops at the end of a long work day.

Bourbon

"Research." #toughjob

I love researching for this post because it often leads to a field trip to my local liquor store. As I was browsing the bourbon selection at the The Wild Duck in Boston, a familiar name caught my eye: “Rough Rider.” Being an avid American history buff, I read Edmund Morris’ crackling, vivacious narrative trilogy based on Theodore Roosevelt’s life and came away even more in awe of the truly larger-than-life character. Of course he would have a bourbon named after his famed military unit!

Despite having a namesake that once hunted all manner of wild game and spent considerable time in the wilderness (both foreign and domestic), Rough Rider was just about as smooth as it gets. I pulled the cork out, expecting the smell to challenge me to a duel, however, it sauntered sweetly into my living room, ready to partake in a lively discussion about today’s political climate. I normally drink my bourbon with ice, but Rough Rider’s grace allowed me to casually sip it all night while I finished The Boatmaker.

I also reached out to Richard Stabile, founder of Long Island Spirits, to find out more about the history of this top-notch bourbon.

Daniel Ford: Can you give us a little history on your distillery?

Richard Stabile: When we opened in 2007, we were the first “legal” distillery to appear on Long Island since the 1800s and we were also one of the first of new generation of craft distilleries to appear in New York. We are housed in a completely renovated 100-year-old, 10,000-square foot horse barn that backs up to more than 100 acres of potatoes and winter rye; which is also adjacent to Long Island Sound on the North Fork. The production part of the distillery is on the first floor and there is a beautiful tasting room on the second floor, where the 30-foot rectification columns pass into and are visible through glass. Our first product was LiV Vodka, which takes advantage of Long Island’s iconic potato that has been grown here on Long Island for more than 350 years. We are located on the bucolic North Fork, which features the acclaimed wine region with more than 60 wineries, so we started making brandy for a number of the wineries. We then went on to create some other wonderful and very innovative spirits including our all natural vodka-based fruit infusions called Sorbetta, Pine Barrens Single Malt Whisky, our Rough Rider Straight Bourbon and Rye Whiskies, and most recently our Deepwells potato gin.

DF: What makes your Rough Rider bourbon special in today’s market?

RS: We did not want to try and out Kentucky that state of Kentucky on the taste profile with our bourbon, so the inspiration for Rough Rider Bourbon came about from producing brandies for the wineries out here on the North Fork of Long Island. We produce Rough Rider Straight Bourbon Whisky in 10 to 20 barrel batches by first mingling older and younger straight bourbon whiskies. We then use ex-merlot and chardonnay French wine casks that have been washed with our 170-proof aged brandy and do a second maturation of the Rough Rider Straight Bourbon whisky, which is where they will rest for an additional three to six months. The extra maturation in the brandy-washed French oak casks transforms the Rough Rider into a much mellower, with the sweet brandy notes on the palate. Ironically, Rough Rider is probably one of the smoothest bourbon’s out there.

Long Island Spirits' distillery (photos courtesy of Richard Stabile.

DF: We assume everyone isn’t a diehard Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen fan like we are. So, if you had to pair your bourbon with any song, which one would it be and why?

RS: I am huge Bruce fan. No question “Born in the USA.” Who’s more American than Teddy Roosevelt and his band of Rough Riders?

DF: Since we’re gearing up for another presidential election, if you were going to run Rough Rider for President, what would your campaign slogan be?

RS: “Walk softly and carry a big stick.” We actually just released a new 121-proof cask strength rye called Rough Rider “The Big Stick.”

DF: Can you name one random fact about your distillery?

RS: The barn the distillery is housed in has twin coppolas on it that were used during Prohibition to hang a lantern to signal to rum runners on the Long Island Sound that the coast was clear.   

Book

I can’t say enough good things about The Boatmaker. I’ve been reading at a pretty rapid pace the past few months, but I really sat down and took my time devouring this debut. Benditt does some expert world-building, breathing life into the parable style of storytelling. Most of his characters don’t just live in his world; they weather and survive it. The boatmaker begins as a simple man on Small Island, near death from a fever. He believes he’s given a directive to build a boat and sail to Big Island and the Mainland. His naivety nearly kills him throughout his journey, but his curiosity and determination to make sense of these strange lands don’t allow him to turn back. Readers see the world largely through his eyes so I still don’t have a deeper understanding about the power and cultural dynamics at play in this troubled kingdom. I guess it’s a lesson for all of us that not all countries are completely knowable, even if you’ve inhabited it forever. You might have more questions about the boatmaker’s reality (as well as our own), but, trust me, they will be questions worth asking and debating over a glass of brown liquor.

For those Bruce, Bourbon, and Books fans interested in such things, The Boatmaker features plenty of drinking, whisky, sex, women, fighting, and bloodshed. I wouldn’t try to keep up with the title character's drinking though. The boatmaker would long outlast you and then build a casket to house your pickled bones.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: All The Light Tends To Go To Atlantic City

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bruce

Daniel Ford: There are a handful of songs that immediately send me back to stumbling toward my potential in a small New York City apartment, not knowing when my limited supply of money would run out, leaving me with “debts no honest man can pay.” Bruce Springsteen’s “Atlantic City” might be at the top of that list. Despair permeates every lyric, but hope—even if it’s a fool’s hope—muscles itself in only to be smacked down again by unyielding obstacles. I’ve heard this song performed live multiple times, and the crowd reaction is immediate, guttural. We’re in the car with Bruce headed toward the hell that surely awaits us in Atlantic City, screaming as if we’ve finally discovered the only place we’ll feel at home. It’s a song about last chances, big dreams, the darkness that eclipses the small amount of light we’re allotted, and getting the fuck out of our own ways. “Put your makeup on/fix your hair up pretty” because damnation awaits and you’ve got to look your fucking best.

One of my favorite live versions of “Atlantic City” is the track on “Live in Dublin,” which features Bruce with The Sessions Band. The rendition, which breathes new life into early American music, hardwires even more desperation and bite into the tune. Blowing up chicken men in Philly has never been more fun.

Dave Pezza: Thank God, I thought we’d never make it to “Atlantic City.” This song has been my favorite Bruce song for as long as I can remember. It struck a chord with me in high school as a dowdy and socially frustrated teenager. The thought of having the balls to pack up your life, no matter how little is left of it, and risking it all on the open road felt so freeing, so hopeful in a sad way to me then, never mind the romantics of trusting that she'll meet you once your there, that you two will share it all or nothing at all with you. It made a deep impression on my psyche and always will. As I got older this song has always reminded me of the how much of a real bitch life is. Bruce’s somber, all but defeated tone makes you feel honest, desperate hope, a hope that I have since realized is such a daily necessity, just to get you up some morning, just to get you through some days. So much hangs on the balance in this song; he has no idea if he’ll make it to Atlantic City, that what he is running from won’t catch him before he gets there. He has no idea if she’ll even meet him there. And even then, once he gets there, he’s still got to risk everything.

Bruce’s mournful, gorgeous harmonica and his chilling guitar fade out reminds you that there always a hope that you can pack it up and make one last go of it. You might not make it, she might not follow, and you’ll still be screwed even if you make it there, but you sure as hell still got to try. Because maybe, just maybe, everything that dies someday comes back.

Bourbon

Dave: This week’s bourbon fits really well with our song and book, and we didn’t even plan it that way. Colonel E.H. Taylor, Jr.’s Small Batch bourbon whiskey is not for the faint of heart. My aunt bought me a bottle of Colonel Taylor’s for my birthday this year, and I was saving it until we needed to try out a new bourbon. I honestly could not form an opinion on this bourbon for the first few sips. Colonel Taylor’s is harsh like strong whiskey should be but finishes like some of its more refined brothers. This is a bourbon for when you want to drink. Period. It’s not for the weak of palate nor the faint of stomach. I can picture Bruce gulping down a few fingers before heading to the tables in Atlantic City to toss it all on red, or Jacob McNeely, the main character in David Joy’s Where All the Light Tends to Go, drinking it straight from the bottle as he loads his shotgun at his dining room table. I wanted to dislike this bourbon on first taste, but I couldn’t. I just hadn’t mustered up the stones for it. Next time I’ll be ready.

Book

Daniel: As Dave correctly proves above, David Joy's Where All the Light Tends to Go pairs perfectly with "Atlantic City" because both involve characters' burning desire to flee a bad situation (and isn't bourbon usually the elixir to either get you moving, more likely, tie you to the dark place you're in?). You’d swear some of the perfectly crafted lines in this work swam out of a high-end bottle of bourbon, picked up the first shotgun they saw, and blasted their way through Appalachia. A few examples:

“Outlawing was just as much a matter of blood as hair color and height.”

“A girl like that couldn’t stay. Not forever, and certainly not for long.”

“I’d been around crank my whole life, so it had never been a drug, only money.”

“There are some souls that even the devil wants no part of.”

If that’s not enough for you, Joy’s debut novel also features vinyl records, redneck meth dealers, teenage angst, and bulls (aka police officers). Where All the Light Tends to Go closes with an final scene as shattering and powerful as: “Everything dies baby that's a fact/But maybe everything that dies someday comes back.” Based on the author’s answers during our recent interview, I have a feeling David Joy is going to be supplying readers with bourbon-infused material for years to come. 

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bob, Bourbon, and Books: Tinker Tailor Solider Basil Hayden’s

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bob

Dave Pezza: We bent the rules just a tad this week. “When I Get My Hands On You” is the lead single off of The New Basement Tapes’ one-off album “Lost on the River.” Comparable to the Traveling Wilburys, this collection of artists, including Marcus Mumford (Mumford & Sons), Jim James (My Morning Jacket), Elvis Costello, Taylor Goldsmith (Dawes), and Rhiannon Giddens (Carolina Chocolate Drops), were asked to create music based on a collection of uncovered, unused Bob Dylan lyrics. The album is worth checking out, if only for this single and “Down on the Bottom.” The whole collection has Bob Dylan’s fingerprints all over it. Although Dylan wrote the words, these artists managed to infuse his blues/folk simplicity and sarcastic, rueful emotion into every track. “When I get My Hands On You” fits well with our book this week, John le Carré’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, but I’m sure Daniel will subtly tell you why.

Daniel Ford: Number of men who sang this tune to George Smiley’s wife in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy: 578 (“Oh, sorry George old boy, I didn’t realize you were sitting right in front of me when I called your wife a dirty whore.” “Ricky, I’ve been asking you questions for two hours.” “Spot on, sod off!”). 

Bourbon

Daniel: Basil Hayden’s was my first bourbon. I had strictly been a scotch man before someone slammed a bottle of this joyous brown liquid down on a picnic table in front of me while I was attending a wedding in Tennessee. This guy had asked the local liquor store owner for a good bourbon and he had recommended Basil Hayden’s immediately. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back of a small yacht meandering the Tennessee River while sipping this sweet, satisfying bourbon. We drank the bottle all day, which gave us a warm glow and insatiable hunger for the smoked pork ribs served during the rehearsal dinner. I don’t interact with any of the people from that wedding (with good reason), but Basil Hayden’s remains a friend for all seasons.

Dave: I hadn’t tried this bourbon until a company outing with an open bar, so obviously I ordered a top-shelf bourbon. Basil Hayden’s is a terrific upper class bourbon, a little pricey, but worth every drop. Hayden’s always tends to go down fast for me, and not because of a particular smoothness or dilution.  It has a really rounded taste and kicks just the right amount. It’ll keep you tipping the bottle, especially on a cold, snowy night. Not a bad choice as a companion for an old school spy novel.

Book (and Movie!)

Daniel: It took me a while to get into John le Carré’s style, but once I did, I devoured Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy in two lengthy sittings (there were a few good things about these Boston blizzards). It reads more like a play at times, just two or three characters at a time talking in a quiet setting. How information is revealed throughout the novel is brilliant; the readers starts with a small morsel of intelligence that grows each time he or she turns the page, so that by the time George Smiley has his eureka moment, you’re exhausted, yet hungry for more. I’m eager to read the rest of the series and find out more about our pudgy, slightly rundown hero. 

Sean Tuohy: The movie adaption shares DNA with another era. You feel as if you have taken a step through a portal into the 1970's and landed right in the middle of the Cold War. The film is filled with a lot of long shots, which makes the viewer feel as if they are peeping Toms watching deeply private interactions. You have to keep your eyes glued to the screen and pay attention, which is very easy because of the way the film is shot and acted, because otherwise, you’d miss important clues that led Smiley to crack the case.

Dave: I saw the most recent film adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy a year or so ago, and loved it.  It’s the British version of “The Good Shepherd,” but better because it stars Gary Oldman! Like most good movies, I learned that that it was based on the first of novel of John le Carré’s Karla Trilogy that follows the exploits of British intelligence officer George Smiley and his hunt for the KGB mastermind codenamed Karla. Le Carré fully immerses his readers in Cold War espionage, a subject he’s more than familiar with as a former MI6 and MI5 employee. If you’re looking for a well written, accurate, and entirely suspenseful spy novel, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy will hit all the right notes.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: Jefferson’s On Fire

This series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or tweeting @WritersBone.

Bruce

Daniel: "I'm On Fire" is an anthem to youth, infidelity, and mischief. Every emotion every young man in love has experienced in the history of mankind can be summed up in this one line: “Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby/Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley/Through the middle of my soul.”

While the lyrics are inspired as always (no one has used the word “baby” in a song so expertly; it rattles your demons every time he sings it), the music drives the tune. It is constantly building in this song, but never boils over (a Springsteen hallmark). All the bubbling happens under the surface, and by surface, I mean his pants. Bruce has a hard on for this woman that’s stronger than a chrome engine, but he’s not scumbag enough (at least not in this song) to follow through with his desires.

This song could easily be about a writer struggling with the desire to create something truly original. It’s suicide to chase the muse full throttle at times, but keeping your emotions in check through a sweat-soaked restlessness can be just as soul-shattering.

Before I hand the mic over to Dave, I’d like to point out that if Springsteen told any woman (and most men for that matter) that he was on fire for them, relationships and families would be destroyed instantly. Yes Bruce, we’re on fire too.

Dave: I mentioned in an earlier post that I’m relatively new to the majority of the Springsteen catalogue, however, I’ve been playing “Born in the U.S.A.” since I was old enough to steal my older brother’s CDs. For me, “I’m On Fire” has always been a song that gripped my heart in a special way. I didn’t quite understand how or why until college. “I’m On Fire,” in accordance with its lecherous and soul-torturing tone, anthemed my blundering efforts to capture the heart of a beautiful and dangerously intriguing woman. Bruce couldn’t have captured the angst of young, unrequited love better; it still cuts, edgy and dull at my heart (we would date throughout college but never quite made the transition into real adult life). But the song, and Bruce’s own love life, captures love and life at its core: desire is just that, a wish. At some point, that aching is either cooled or explodes, changing yourself and reality for better or for worse. So when you wake up in the middle of the night, that freight train rumbling through the middle of your head, you gotta ask yourself, “Is she worth it?”

Bourbon

Dave: It just so happens that I moonlight as a college volleyball coach, and, after returning from a tournament in the badass state of New Hampshire, I couldn’t help but stop at the state line and indulge in some tax-free, price-slashed booze (damn does New Hampshire know how to sell hooch!). There, after spending my paycheck on a variety of bourbon, I came across a special stock of Jefferson’s “very” small batch Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, specially distilled for the State of New Hampshire. Sold. A month later, a couple buddies and I opened it before heading to the bar. I poured two fingers worth, and then two more…and then two more before we headed out into the cold December night.

Jefferson’s, especially this special batch, is smooth and tasty with a healthy dose of vanilla. You can put back the Jefferson’s like it’s your job, or like you’ve survived another week of dream-torching, life-numbing corporate banality. How does it pair with this week’s Bruce pick? Well despite the fact that nothing is more American than Bruce Springsteen, bourbon, and Thomas Jefferson (@JeffsBourbon, we accept cash, credit, and money orders). Jefferson’s is a pleasant reminder that, at the end of hard days, loves lost, and choices regretted, friends and a finely crafted brown liquor can help you look past it all, if only for the night. But be careful, for goodness sake, this stuff packs a punch. Definitely do not have six fingers with no supper, followed by numerous beers; you’ll end up on all fours in front of porcelain on Saturday morning.

Daniel: Am I drinking Jefferson’s out of a Superman travel mug right now? Does it make me feel like a superhero? Am I being quietly judged by Dave, a known Batman homer?

All answers point to yes because there is no wrong way to consume alcohol. Unless…

I’m happy to say this bourbon is unlike its foppish namesake. It only takes one sip to discover it’s a sweet, enjoyable dark alcohol sure to put out or stoke your fire depending on your mood.

Book

Dave: I was introduced to George Saunders by a college professor friend of mine. He suggested I check him out after a conversation about postmodernists and humorists (yeah, we’re pretty cool). I finally picked up a copy of Tenth of December, Saunders’ latest collection of short stories. The collection features 10 terribly well-constructed short stories ranging from attempted kidnapping to questions of social conformity and bigger questions about the value of life and death. It was a 2014 National Book Award Finalist, which I don’t find surprising. Saunders’ style comes across as a mix of humor and macabre that has you fighting to decide which emotion to express page after page to great effect. The book’s eponymous story rounds the collection’s emotional careening. Tenth of December is a story you think you’ve pegged from the first few pages, but manages to reel your heart in directions you didn’t know it could be wretched. There is plenty of hurt in this book, but, much like our Bruce song this week, Saunders’ leaves you stronger at the broken places.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: Blanton’s on a Sunny Day

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bruce

Dave: Ahh finally, “Waitin' on a Sunny Day!” This is an all-time favorite song of mine even before I became a proper Bruce Springsteen fan. This song will always remind me of my sophomore year of college: spring on the quad, new major, new girl. As a result, it always brings a mournful reminder of all the good things in this world and why all the suffering we go through individually and as a society is worth it. In my opinion, it’s the best track of Springsteen’s 2002 heartache “The Rising,” an album that helped mend the open wounds for many Americans. Following the solemn and grave “Into the Fire,” “Waitin' on a Sunny Day” wades light into the rest of the album. Just the drum beat open can lift my day in a way that, honestly, only Bruce can accomplish.

Daniel: It won’t be surprising to our readers that I prefer the live version of this song. While working at JCK magazine, I’d signal I was in a good mood by buying a round of coffees from Pret A Manger, getting high on caffeine, and blasting this song on my computer. It never failed to inspire creativity, especially when the British kid starts belting it out at the top of his lungs (starts at 3:53). As an added bonus, I would be so hopped up on rock ‘n’ roll and coffee that I would incite former intern and Writer’s Bone contributor Hailey Reissman into debating inane topics only I would find interesting.

This tune also reminds me of my freshman year at St. John’s University. I bought “The Rising” right before I left home and played the album everyday on my way to classes. I felt pretty badass walking around Queens with my Sony Discman, when it actuality I probably looked like a huge nerd. It didn’t matter because I had Bruce lighting my way.

Bourbon

Dave: I have been coveting trying this bourbon for months. On an excursion to New Hampshire I found a bottle in the magical and heavenly place that is the New Hampshire State Liquor store. I bought the bottle as a birthday gift for my brother, a consummate bourbon guy. We opened it on New Year’s Eve, smelling the cork and bottle before tasting. To our frustration, we caught little to no scent. We were crushed and entirely dubious of this purported top shelf bourbon. We were entirely surprised. This is quite possibly the smoothest bourbon I have ever tasted. It got the right amount of smoky oak flavors, the right amount of vanilla, and it goes down without a hitch. Smooth taste isn’t a huge surprise for a single barrel bourbon, but I could have easily downed half the bottle before crawling to the bathroom. Blanton’s is sold in its signature small egg shaped bottle with a metal figure of a man on a horse attached to the cork stopper. Blanton makes eight different types of this cork, each with the horse in different positions. So if you line then up in order you get a stop motion scene of a horse in full gallop!

Be warned, you’re going to have to shell out some dough for a small bottle, upwards of $50.00. But if you consider yourself a bourbon fiend, Blanton’s is an absolute must.  It is certainly a more than adequate pair with this top shelf Bruce song, especially if you need to chase those blues away!

Book

Daniel: Max Hastings is one of my favorite historians. His book on the Korean War inspired me to delve into that conflict for my master’s thesis (completion expected sometime in 2024). He has a fluid style that makes historical eras accessible for the modern reader.

Hastings’ Catastrophe 1914: Europe Goes to War lacks some of the breeziness of his past works in large part because the beginning of World War I is so complicated. It also didn’t help that I don’t know that much about World War I and struggled to keep all the alliances straight.

However, here are some stats that made me start hitting the bourbon pretty hard:

• “In 312 hours 11,000 trains carried 119,754 officers, 2.1 million men, and 600,000 horses across Germany to concentration areas on the frontiers of France, Belgium, and Luxembourg.”
• One in six Serbs was killed during World War I, “the highest proportion of the population of any belligerent nation to perish in the conflict.”
• Between Aug. 20 and Aug. 23, “40,000 French soldiers died.” By Aug. 29, “total French casualties since the war began reached 260,000, including 75,000 dead.”

The French soldiers weren’t helped by the fact they went to battle wearing bright blue coats and red pants. They also marched out a poor musical troupe to announce the army’s presence. German machine guns took care of that noise in a hurry.

This might not be the easiest read, for a variety of reasons, but it’s an important one. Besides, there are only so many valuable reading options for this time of year. What, are you going to attempt Infinite Jest for the third time? Come on, get serious.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bob, Bourbon, and Books: Tangled Up in Blue

Official GIF of Bob, Bourbon, and Books

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bob

Daniel: In my opinion, there isn’t a bad version of “Tangled Up in Blue,” but Dave Pezza is hung up on the bootleg version. What makes choosing a favorite tough is that Dylan changes the lyrics every time he features it on an album or sings it live in concert (of course, you can say that about a lot of his songs). “Tangled Up in Blue” is essentially a short story about a character that can’t get his life together. Some cool things happen to him (“she bent down the laces to my shoes), but he doesn’t grow or find any enlightenment during the course of the tune. If you’re a writer and you don’t listen to this song at least once or twice a week (okay, fine, a day), then you’re not doing it right.

Bourbon

A first for “Bob, Bourbon, and Books:” An interview with a bourbon distillery! More specifically, one with Harlen Wheatley, master distiller for Buffalo Trace, which we paired with “Most of the Time” and Ecstatic Cahoots: Fifty Short Stories by Stuart Dybek.

Daniel Ford: Can you give us a little history on yourself and your distillery?

Harlen Wheatley: With a history dating back 200+ years, the best way to relay it is here:

DF: Buffalo Trace is home to some impeccable bourbon labels, including the exceptional Pappy Van Winkle. What makes your brands special in today’s bourbon market?

HW: I would say two things really stand out in my mind: consistency and variety. By that I mean we have very controlled taste profiles for each of our bourbons and we follow those taste profiles to maintain consistency. So the bourbon you order today at the bar should have the same taste profile if you go to the liquor store and buy that same bourbon off the shelf today or a year from now. As far as variety goes, we have a range of bourbons for everyone, starting at 4-year-old bourbon and going up to a 23-year-old bourbon. We also have multiple mashbill recipes we use as well. So if you like bourbon, chances are good we’ll have a bourbon that you like.

DF: I assume everyone isn’t a diehard Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen fan like I am. So, if you had to pair your bourbon with any song, which one would it be and why?

HW: I believe you could almost use “Born in the USA” as a theme song for Buffalo Trace, since it is an authentic Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey and it cannot be born anywhere else. “My Hometown” might work too.  

DF: Can you name one random fact about the Buffalo Trace Distillery?

HW: We have 378 acres here at the Trace!

Book

Sean Tuohy: Master author David Morrell takes readers on a journey through pre-World War I America in his fast paced historical fiction novel, Last Reveille. The well-researched book explores a time in America before it became an overwhelming super power. The story follows a young calvary solider as he enters Mexico with an American force to find and capture famed bandit Pancho Villa. The young solider builds a relationship with a wildness fighter named Miles Calendar. Calendar is an aged fighter who has been part of every military action since the Civil War. Morrell paints a vivid picture of a Mexican landscape filled with danger and dotted with rough and grizzled men. At its heart, the novel is a western about violent men living in a violent world. It pulls you by the collar and forces you to down a stiff drink.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bob, Bourbon, and Books: Simple Twist of Fate

Bob Dylan live in Providence, R.I.

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bob

Daniel: There are three things in my life that I take more seriously than all the others: love, brothers, and Bob Dylan. I’ve somehow convinced the love of my life to hang out with me on a daily basis, my brothers are my heroes, and I’ve been lucky enough to attend more than 10 Dylan concerts throughout the years. I knew introducing live Dylan to Dave was going to be fun, but I did my best to temper his expectations. When I first started going to Dylan concerts around 2002, he played for several hours and busted out covers like The Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar,” Neil Young’s “Old Man,” and The Band’s “Tears of Rage.” His voice, not great to begin with, can no longer handle that kind of musical workload, so he’s stuck to tunes off his four bluesy albums from the past decade (“Love and Theft,” “Modern Times,” “Together Through Life,” and “Tempest”). Like a rookie, Dave was under the impression that Dylan would mix up the set list he’d been playing for the past several months just for him. I shook my head and told him to be happy with “Simple Twist of Fate,” a song about tortured heartache the two of us had been listening to non-stop in Writer’s Bone HQ for the last couple of weeks. Well, fuck if Dylan didn’t throw in “Love Sick” and “Tangled Up in Blue” just to make me look like an asshole. His hatred of the Ford brothers (would it kill you to sing “Desolation Row” live one time before you die, Bob?!) continues unabated. Regardless, this concert instantly slotted itself in my top five because Dylan’s voice sounded the best it had in years, his band is better than 90% of the blues and rock bands out there, and I got to run into my younger brother who happened to be at the concert.

Dave: If I heard one more person tell me that I wouldn’t understand a word Dylan said, I was going to implode in anger. Seeing live acts like Dylan or Bruce Springsteen are just something any music lover has to shell out the cash for, regardless of how much their shows have degraded over the years. Dylan did anything but suck. His rasp worked perfectly with his blues set list, and he played the harmonica with soul like a true New York City street performer. I had been telling Daniel for weeks that I fall ass first into great set lists when I see a band live. Daniel, in his fan boy douchery, ridiculed me endlessly for the last few months. But what do you know, “Simple Twist of Fate,” “Tangled Up in Blue” (two of my top five favorite songs), and “Blowin’ in the Wind.”  And yes Daniel, it might actually kill him to sing all 11 minutes of “Desolation Row!”

Needless to say, Dylan earned even more of my respect, and really rocked the elegant and classy Providence Performing Arts Center the way only the master of Americana rock can. The night had only one regret: not flipping off and belittling the asshole woman who shushed us when I asked Daniel the appalling question of the title of one of the songs. For shame on you arrogant woman! There is a level of hell reserved for people who shush at rock concert.

Bourbon

Daniel: A Ford hasn’t been out drinking in Providence since the early 1970s. I was determined to make the college-era version of my father proud. Dave and I were already a couple drinks in when we arrived at the Red Fez on Peck Street. Our bartender was personable, tattooed, and bearded. Dave ordered two fingers of Knob Creek and somehow convinced me it was wise to order the bar’s mac and cheese (which was extraordinary with an added drop of hot sauce). I wish I could say that the drinking and suspect food choices stopped there. A responsible editor-in-chief wouldn’t have smoked a Black and Mild before the show, drank several more beers during the show and a couple of regular Budweisers at the bar following the concert, and then ate half the dollar menu at McDonald’s at the end of the night. I can’t even tell you how good or bad Knob Creek is because it blended in so well with the mac and cheese and my Miller High Life chaser. All I know is that I was infinitely more responsible than the women who shushed Dave and I at the concert. May she go directly to the section of hell occupied by the people who thought 8-track tapes were a good idea.

Dave: I have no recollection of drinking this bourbon…

Book

This is the best way to start a Bob Dylan concert weekend.

Daniel: Any project involving Dylan tends to warp into something weird. Just check out his prose/poetry collection, Tarantula, the movie he starred in, “Masked and Anonymous,” and the film based on his life, “He’s Not There” to truly understand what I’m talking about. I finally started reading Dylan's Chronicles: Volume One and expected a tapestry of incoherent, mystical, and unintelligible thoughts (much like Neil Young's Waging Heavy Peace) that just happened to be set in New York City in the 1960s. I figured that the only person who could make sense of it would be the gray-haired hippy sha-woman hawking her book of Bob Dylan love poetry and lyric analysis (which my younger brother bought). However, I was surprised to discover Dylan's prose is crystal clear and his knack for turning a phrase is still better than most published writers. This is the section that convinced me the book was an excellent bourbon partner:

“LPs were like a force of gravity. They had covers, back and front, that you could stare at for hours. Next to them, 45s were flimsy and uncrystallized. They just got stacked up in piles and didn’t seem important. I had no song in my repertoire for commercial radio anyway. Songs about debauched bootleggers, mothers that drowned their own children, Cadillacs that only got five miles to the gallon, floods, union hall fires, darkness and cadavers at the bottom of rivers weren’t for radiophiles. There was nothing easygoing about the folk songs I sang. They weren’t friendly or ripe with mellowness.”

Fuck him and his talent. May he live to 100 and tour the whole time.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: Wild Turkey in the Night

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bruce

Hazy Dave Pezza: “Spirit in the Night” has become one of my favorite Bruce songs and defines, in my opinion, the magical nature of Bruce’s debut album “Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J.”  “Spirit in the Night” is, has been, or will be every 20-something’s mantra: a few kids living through the spirits in the night, drinking, screwing, and fighting their way to sunrise. How Bruce manages to get your body moving, your eyes tearing, and your libido boiling simultaneously is a mystery that has inspired generations. This early, but legendary, track features some of Bruce's best lines and innuendos and keeps you alive all night, from cocktail hour to nightcap.  My only suggestion: grab your own Crazy Janey and a bottle of Wild Turkey first.

Daniel Ford: I must admit that “Spirit in the Night isn’t one of my favorite Springsteen songs. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a brilliant display of songwriting and musicianship, but not a song I can listen to on endless repeat. A little bit of this tune goes a long way for me. And unlike Dave, I’m partial to the live versions from 1973 and 1975. That being said, I think “and she kissed me just right, like only a lonely angel can,” is one of the best lyrics in the history of songwriting, and any song with a characters named “Wild Billy” and “Hazy Davy” and settings like “Greasy Lake” and “Gypsy Angel Row” is the perfect companion to this Friday’s bourbon.

Also, I have to confess that while Hazy Davey and I were listening to this song repeatedly in order to accurately capture our feelings about it, I was pounding my foot on the floor, dancing manically in my chair, and singing the entire time. 

Bourbon

Hazy Davey: Ah, finally we have made our way to Wild Turkey 81, the definitive working man’s bourbon. Wild Turkey is not smooth, at all. Named 81 after its proof, Turkey 81 will remind you what drinking bourbon is all about. Harsh and warm, it makes it easy to keep tipping that elbow on a cold fall night. Wild Turkey 81 might not be the fanciest or best-tasting bourbon on the market, but it’ll get you where you need to go with some attitude. Perfect as a shot with your night’s first Budweiser, Wild Turkey might be a dangerously good companion to “Spirit in the Night.” Drop the needle, pour a shot or two, crack a few beers, and toast to a weekend well-earned. See where it takes you…

Daniel: One of my favorite journalism professors (the late, great Kalev Pehme) ended every class by telling us how eager he was to be reunited with his bottle of Wild Turkey. It was tough for him to hand out compliments, but I received two during my college tenure. I like to think he was at the bottom of a bottle when he graded both of those papers. In his memory, I bought a bottle of Wild Turkey 81 while stocking up for Hurricane Sandy in 2012 (hurricane preparation in New York City typically involves buying copious amounts of alcohol). Let’s just say, the lights in my apartment weren't the only ones that went out. The events of that evening convinced me that I should opt for Wild Turkey only when I’m in the deepest depths of writing despair and need as many “spirits in the night” as possible. 

Book

Daniel: What goes better with a working man’s bourbon than a book featuring good ole American ass kicking? Rick Atkinson completed his epic Liberation Trilogy last year by expertly depicting the Allied Force’s liberation of Europe in The Guns At Last Light. Much like the first two entries in the series—the Pulitzer Prize-winning An Army At Dawn and critically-acclaimed The Day Of Battle—The Guns At Last Light details plenty of glory, but also military incompetence, poor leadership, and smoking (the amount of cigarettes the armies went through every month is truly staggering). If you need a drinking game in order to plow through the 896-page tome, take a shot of Wild Turkey 81 every time Ernest Hemingway pops up. You’ll be drunk by the time you reach an Allied-occupied brothel in Paris (I’d recommend drinking every time British General Bernard Montgomery acts like a wanker, but I don’t want to kill you).

Hazy Davey: Canny Danny recommended this book to me some time ago, and I only just picked it up and began devouring it. Atkinson has been praised for creating one of the best World War II narratives from the American perspective, and the praise is entirely earned. I started at the end of his Liberation Trilogy, jumping right into the invasion of Normandy. Atkinson paints the war effort in remarkable broad strokes from the highest general to the lowest private. He throws in facts so unprecedented that your head begins to hurt. He even traces the roles famous American and British figures throughout the war, such as Kurt Vonnegut’s capture and imprisonment by German forces in Dresden (surviving the inferno caused by Allied bombing that would inspire Slaughterhouse Five) and Ernest Hemingway, who was reporting on the war for Time magazine and lead a cadre of resistance fighters behind the Allied  troops during the liberation of Paris (he and his irregulars entered into the Ritz and ordered a round of drinks soon after). Atkinson makes it all too easy to be a proud American in this large final volume, while not forgiving the U.S. of it major flaws. Bruce, Wild Turkey, and American World War II badassery? Happy Friday!

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bob, Bourbon, and Books: Most of the Time…Buffalo Trace is On Our Minds

Official GIF of Bob, Bourbon, and Books

This semi-regular series alternates between Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen songs that perfectly complement a good bourbon and a quality book. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bob

Daniel Ford: Someone told me recently that I had more angst in my little finger than this person did in their whole body. A slight exaggeration to be sure, but it’s probably more true than I’d like to admit. I blame it on listening to Dylan’s “Most of the Time” in college when I was a poor Connecticut boy trying to find himself as a man and a writer in New York City. The original version was Dylan’s underrated album “Oh Mercy,” which includes one dark tune after another, such as “Everything is Broken,” Man in the Long Black Coat,” “What Good Am I?,” and “What Was It You Wanted.” Pour that over a glass of scotch and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a tortured writer capable of writing a personal, honest novel about heartbreak and unfilled potential. An alternate version of “Most of the Time” was included in 2008’s “Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8” and it instantly eclipsed the original. It better balances hope and despair, which coincided with my own evolution. I may still be angsty, but I have way too many reasons to be happy to stay in a prolonged funk. The song will remain on my writing playlist though, just in case I need to tap into the psyche of that lost boy in New York City. He makes for damn fine novel fodder...most of the time.

Dave Pezza: For anyone who has ever recovered from a broken heart, Bob’s got your back with this masterful reworking of a mediocre song off of his equally mediocre “Oh Mercy.” (Daniel: How dare you). Part of Dylan’s terrific bootleg series, “Most of Time” instills the type of blue collar strength we all must put on day to day when we are forced to shelf our mounting problems of love and life. Most of the time we manage to put it all in the back of our mind, but every once in a while, like when this Dylan jam turns the corner, we have a tiny breakdown, a small crisis of confidence and will. Having one of those days or weeks? Throw this track on and pour yourself a few fingers of well-earned bourbon.

Bourbon

Dave: As far as bourbon goes, Buffalo Trace is never a bad call. Buffalo Trace Kentucky Straight Bourbon is the old reliable of the massive Buffalo Trace distillery responsible for a number of terrific bourbons, including Blanton’s, Hancock’s President’s Reserve, Eagle Rare, and Van Winkle (!!!). With a stronger taste than most bourbon, Buffalo Trace is a perfect standalone, no water or ice necessary (the way bourbon was meant to be imbibed). Chances are your liquor store has a bottle; it has pretty good distribution. I’d pick one up the next time you’re looking for a new bourdon to try. Be warned though, you might never turn away from this moderately priced top shelf bourbon.

Daniel: I already had a glass of Bulleit in me when I decided to try Buffalo Trace. I was jealous of the two fingers Dave ordered after I made my first drink selection. Did I ask him to try it? You’re damn right I did! I’m Ebola-free and needed to test it out before I requested a glass of my own. I have no regrets. The man points I lost for defiling bourbon with ice and asking to drink out of another man’s glass were worth it. Buffalo Trace is delicious.

Book

Dave: This week’s book, Ecstatic Cahoots: Fifty Short Stories by Stuart Dybek, fits astoundingly well with “Most of the Time” and Buffalo Trace. No. I have that backwards. “Most of the Time” and Buffalo Trace fit perfectly with this book, which could make toilet-distilled wine taste good. Dybek was entirely unknown to me until I read The New York Times book review about this collection. I cannot recommend this book enough. Dybek wonderfully tight walks the line between gorgeous prose and soulful poetry. The 50, yes 50, short stories in this collection span love, sex, loneliness, death, Chicago, masculinity, femininity, and the love-hate relationship between contemporary man and woman. About three quarters of the way through this multi-read collection, it struck me that Ecstatic Cahoots is a contemporary version of Hemingway’s Men Without Women, written in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s style, using an impressively mitigated American vernacular. Individually these stories take you on an emotional and aesthetically pleasing roller coaster. From collegiate make out sessions over Spanish poetry in the middle of a Chicago snow storm to a crazed castaway haunted by an island made of knocking doors, Dybek keeps you turning the page. As a whole, this collection plunges the reader into a world where sentiment, emotion, and subtly bleed out of the stories' walls, streets, and characters. If you buy a new book this fall, make it Dybek’s.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: Bulleit Brings the Devil Out

Official video of Bruce, Bourbon, and Books

 By Daniel Ford and Dave Pezza

This semi-regular series will expertly pair a Springsteen song, a good bourbon, and a quality book for your listening, drinking, and reading pleasure. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bruce

Daniel: Dark. Moody. Apocalyptical. Hypnotic harmonica. In short, the perfect song to pair with a glass of bourbon. This tune had a prominent spot on the playlist I listened to while writing my first novel. I have a feeling it will make an appearance on the one I’ll use for my next one.

Bourbon

Bulleit Bourbon Frontier Whiskey

Dave: A 90 proof bourbon, Bulleit Frontier Whiskey is smoother than Jim Beam’s White Label or Wild Turkey’s 81 proof, but a little more expensive. As a result, it is a dangerous night cap well worth the price. You’re a few glasses into the bottle before you know what hit you. It lacks a bit of flavor right out of the bottle, replacing flavored accents with a bite that feels right for a dark mood. Add a cube of ice or a dash of water, and this bourbon opens up a little, sweetening up as the night goes on.

Book

Dave: Quite a good pick to accompany bourbon and Bruce. The Hot Kid is one of Leonard’s last handful of novels before his death in 2013. The novel follows, surprise surprise, a U.S. Marshal by the name of Carlos Webster and his exploits against the bank robbers and gangsters of 1920s. Carl is Leonard’s quintessential hero: straight forward, possess well-developed comedic sense, is a hit with the ladies, and is as honest as possible while trying to do his Spanish American War-decorated father right. Carl takes down and teams up with gangsters and outlaws, in stand offs and badass lines what would later come out in the Leonard-inspired “Justified” television series. Just like this week’s other picks, Leonard writes Carl and the story’s whores, gangsters, reporters, and U.S. Marshals smoother than they look, with a rough edge to remind you of the true way of the world. It’ll get you to where you need to be by the night’s end. Devour this thriller with large doses of whiskey, like you’re hiding out in one of Leonard’s speakeasies for the evening.

For more Bruce/Bob, Bourbon, and Books, check out our full archive.

Bruce, Bourbon, and Books: Welcome to Nebraska

Official video of Bruce, Bourbon, and Books

By Daniel Ford and Dave Pezza

It’s important to take a step back from the daily grind and pay attention to what really matters in life. You know, like good music, alcohol, and literature. This semi-regular series will expertly pair a Springsteen song, a good bourbon, and a quality book for your listening, drinking, and reading pleasure. You can make your own suggestions and recommendations in the comments section or by tweeting @WritersBone.

Bruce

Daniel: That sound you hear is Dave playing Springsteen’s “Nebraska” album on repeat. He had never heard it until a few days ago and I was pleasantly reminded of how much I enjoy it. There’s really not a bad song on the album. It is horribly depressing and moody, which should suit writers and alcoholics alike.

Bourbon

Woodford Reserve

Dave: This bourbon has all classic qualities you want in an American-made dark liquor: strong whiskey smell, smooth to the pallet, and heats up on the way down. Two fingers of Woodford Reserve can mellow out a crap night and pairs beautifully with this Bruce deep cut. It’s strong and a little harsh, but it’ll bring your night some hard-nosed optimism.

Book

The Son by Philip Meyer

Daniel: Westerns are the perfect companion for Bruce and bourbon. Have you listened to "Devils & Dust?" Sounds like it was written on the Plains in the 1800s. And I don’t have to tell you how much drinking happens in westerns. I don’t know how those guys had the energy to kill all the Native Americans in support of Manifest Destiny with all the booze they consumed.

Modern westerns tend to be hit or miss. For every "Unforgiven" there is a "Wild, Wild West." One could argue that most modern literary westerns are limited to apocalyptic novels. However, Philip Meyer’s The Son goes a long way to restoring my faith in the western genre. Meyer intertwines the stories of three members of the McCullough clan, starting with Eli, the family’s patriarch, who is captured by a Comanche tribe as a child. I was a big fan of Meyer’s American Rust, which also pairs well with brown alcohol, and I am impressed that his storytelling has gotten even stronger and more confident in this novel. It’s a long book, but never feels that way. The pages turn without you really thinking about how far along you are in the tale.

I’m not done with the novel yet, so I can’t give anything away, but it appears that all three people Meyer focuses on are headed for a rough landing. I plan on drinking copious amounts of bourbon when it all goes down.

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