Thank you for joining me once again, Gentle Reader(s), for another episode of Ye Olde Matador Playlist. It has been a very quiet winter and early spring indeed on Galisteo Street but we—DJ Inky, bartender Gus and doorman extraordinaire Lawrence—soldier on regardless. This last Thursday was on its way to being no exception to that trend and by the time 10 PM rolled around there were maybe a dozen people in the bar, give or take. One of those in attendance was T.C., whose birthday had apparently been the previous day. T.C. was still in a celebratory frame of mind and he requested some '80s/'90s vintage music of the danceable variety. I was happy to comply.

...that the 45th president of these here United States of America is a Lying Sack of Shit? I haven't?   I beg your pardon for the oversight. To wit: The President of the United States is a Lying Sack of Shit.   Thank you.   ...

Welcome back, Gentle Reader(s), to a prematurely spring-like edition of Ye Olde Matador Playliste. Your Humble Narrator will do his best to forego any gnashing of teeth and rending of garments over the latest outrages of Orange Goblinism (save to mention that the mind-boggling insanity continues apace, what with more wire-tapping hallucinations and the unveiling of the Goblin Budget which fulfills everyone's worst expectations of heartless philistinism) to focus instead upon the passing of one of the true founding fathers of rock and roll—the great Chuck Berry. Yes, the Brown-Eyed Handsome Man hisself has left the building this very day. He was 90 years old and many decades beyond his prime performing and recording years, but nothing will ever diminish the significance and the scope of his innovations and his indelible contributions to the development of rock and roll music. As a guitar player myself, he was more significant to me than Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino and Little Richard all rolled into one.

Gentle Reader(s), I am returned. My mental and emotional constitution have been reeling from the loss of the incomparable Goofaman, but it's time to get back on the beam and return to the fray, such as it were. I find it hard to comprehend that the Goof isn't out there still ('there' meaning the physical world and its immediate environs) and that today or tomorrow I'll open my email to find one of his patented multi-page rants or another ethereal soundscape or video collage demanding my attention. It's a boggler, folks, so bear with me. I'll spend the remainder of my days thinking of that boy. I don’t expect his likes will never cross my path again.