The first night I’m in Asheville I end up hungover in the morning, but on the second night, even though I’m still in the middle of unpacking the apartment, and on top of that, dry heaving enough to wonder if someone could actually be seasick in the mountains, I end…

Sam Farahmand on Joanna Newsom’s “Have One on Me,” living and leaving New York City, and looking for the third coast of America. — Love is not a symptom of time Time is just a symptom of love I. The only record I’ve ever owned I only ever listened to for a few months on the only record play­er I’ve ever owned. The record, at the time, was also one of only a few…

Sam Farahmand on “Desperados Under The Eaves,” transcendental desperation, and listening to Warren Zevon while driving around Los Angeles. — Don’t the trees look like crucified thieves The third day I’m in Los Angeles, after almost two years of being landlocked out toward the mid­dle of the country, I head down to the beach because I need to see the sea is still here. The only reason I didn’t head…

Sam Farahmand on Jason Molina and The Magnolia Electric Co., hyacinths and Hank Williams, and heaven and hell in Nashville. — Now all you folks in heaven not too busy ringing the bell Some of us down here aren’t doing very well I figured I’d buy the hyacinths for myself because the only ones in stock were still in their bulbs, which wouldn’t really be much of a romantic gesture, to…

Sam Farahmand on the size of Johnny Cash’s shoes, an American recording of Ain’t No Grave, and the neon in Nashville. — I see a band of angels and they’re coming after me Walking in to work at the Country Music Hall of Fame® and Museum from the side entrance off of Fifth Avenue South, there is a display about the size of some shoes Johnny Cash used to wear — where…

Sam Farahmand on Walt Whitman turning two hundred years old, his 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, and publishing Chimero. — Walt Whitman turned two hundred years old on the thirty-first of May a year ago to the day to­day, which was only about twenty days after I turned twenty-nine on the thirteenth of the very same May. At the time I was rereading Leaves of Grass while working at a…

Sam Farahmand on the otherworldliness of Angel Olsen’s “All Mirrors” and on mirroring Albert Camus on a movie set in Mexico. — at least at times it knew me at least at times it knew me at least at times it knew me Superman is who he says I look like when I’m looking at myself in the mirror before we head out to shoot for the night, knowing afterwards we’ll likely…

Sam Farahmand remembers singer-songwriter and one-of-a-kind storyteller John Prine. — Thirty seconds was about all it was. The stage as set as he was to run through the closing song an hour and a half before he would perform — not one of his own songs, but one written in the fifties for the Man in Black — and he…

Sam Farahmand on the singular performances and lyrical multitudes of the singer-songwriter William Matheny. — I used to wander this earth like a prodigal son Sunday night, though I know I have to work tomorrow morning, I go to see Billy and his backing band the Strange Constellations play a show at The Basement for his recently released EP Moon Over Kenova. The Basement being…