Vic Chesnutt, the great Southern poet and song crafter for whom I blog today, put every bloody bit of himself in those stark, delicate, raw, biting and bright songs. Â He was an underground living legend often seen around town, performing or attending, in the late 80s/early 90s when I was living in Athens, GA. The day I left Athens, my good buddy Brad made me a gift of all his Vic Chesnutt cds, which consisted of Little, West of Rome, and Drunk. I lived in Honolulu for a few years after that, listening to the only one of those that was not too scratched to play (Little) over and over.
