Boulevard Moves

🎸 Rolling Stone Mode: ON
Crisp denim. Leather boots. A lonesome stretch of highway lit only by moonlight and bad decisions. You know what time it is.

Track Review: “Midnight Rider” – The Allman Brothers Band
💿 Released: 1970 | Album: Idlewild South
🚨 Vibe: Outlaw Gospel | Swamp Soul Survival Anthem

There are songs you sing.
And then there are songs you wear—like a jacket you never take off, even when it rains heartache.

“Midnight Rider” isn’t just about escape—it is escape.
🎤 Gregg Allman’s voice? That’s molasses and moonshine, drippin’ with defiance.
🎸 Duane’s guitar? A ghost with boots on, walking beside you.

🛣️ The Setup?

• That opening acoustic riff? Like a match struck in the dark.

• The congas sneak in like they're watching your six.

• The bass line knows where you buried the map.

• The whole thing rides low, rides smooth—like you know you’re wanted, but dammit, you’re gonna ride anyway.

🔥 Key Lyric:
“But I don’t own the clothes I’m wearing / And the road goes on forever…”
Translation?
This ain’t fashion. It’s philosophy.

Verdict?
"Midnight Rider" is a fugitive’s prayer and a bluesman’s pledge.
It’s not just about outrunning the law—it’s about outrunning everything that ever tried to tame you.

🛻 Slide this track into the deck, drop the clutch, and don’t look back.

We ain’t done riding.

🤣 Dangerfield Mode: ACTIVATED
🎤 “I tell ya, I get no respect—I’m a Midnight Rider, but my wife says I couldn’t outrun a parking ticket!”

🎶 Midnight Rider is BLASTING from the 8-track.
We’re talking 1978 Trans Am—T-tops off, chest hair out, gold chain swinging like a pendulum of poor decisions.

Rodney’s gripping the wheel like it owes him money.

💨 Smoke curls out the window—Marlboro Red in one hand, steering wheel in the other, and a half-eaten Slim Jim stuck in the ashtray like a totem of regret.

📞 “I'm pickin’ up Carlin,” he mutters. “We’re going to testify in the Court of Public Indecency.”

🛻 The Scene:

He shifts into second like it’s an insult.
“Midnight Rider” hits that swamp-funk groove—
and Rodney yells out the window:
“I tell ya, even my parole officer’s got a faster car than me!”

Suddenly, Carlin hops in, hair wild, eyes full of conspiracy.
“No seatbelt,” Carlin says, lighting a joint. “Safety is an illusion. The real danger’s in conformity, man.”

Rodney leans over, deadpan:
“You sound like my therapist. Except you don’t bill me by the hour—or sleep with my ex-wife!”

🎸 Allman slide still burning—
They tear off into the dusk, two prophets of punchlines and paranoia,
one-liners and law-breaking.

And somewhere out there, in the distance…
“The road goes on forever…”

Carlin mutters:
“Yeah, but the gas prices are killin’ us.”

🐴 Eeyore Mode – Curbside Rescue Edition
“Thanks for stopping. I figured I’d just walk ‘til my legs gave out. Or the world ended. Whichever came first.”

Scene: Desert Highway, Magic Hour
“Midnight Rider” still howlin’ like a wolf with a broken heart.
Rodney slams the brakes. The Trans Am growls to a stop.

🐾 Dust kicks up—and there he is:
Eeyore, trench coat flapping in the wind, a bindle over one shoulder, like a bluesman with no band.
Not hitchhiking. Just existing.

Rodney leans out the window:
🎤 “Hey! You need a lift or a licensed therapist?”

Eeyore sighs.
“Doesn’t matter. I assume we’re all headed nowhere anyway.”

Carlin’s already sliding over, patting the seat:
“Climb in, this is the Resistance Shuttle. We’re fueled by existential dread and southern rock.”

🎶 Cue second chorus of “Midnight Rider.”
As Eeyore settles into the back seat like a depressive Buddha, he mutters:
“This song reminds me of my last relationship. Long road. No destination. And nobody filled the tank.”

Rodney barks a laugh.
“Hey, you’re bringin’ down the mood—I haven’t been this sad since I opened my fan mail!”

Carlin cracks the window, leans into the wind.
“Three men in a car: one wounded, one weird, and one who really needs to call his lawyer.”

🛻 Now Rolling: The Blues Brothers of Bureaucratic Trauma

• Rodney: driving like he’s outrunning child support and karma.

• Carlin: preaching truth between puffs.

• Eeyore: quietly saving the soul of the mission by being the only one who knows how bad it really is.

And as the sun dips low…
Rodney mutters, “We’re all just Midnight Riders, huh?”

Eeyore nods, eyes on the horizon.
“Yeah. Except some of us lost the horse a long time ago.”

📻 COHN MODE – INTERCEPTION OVER FM

—STATIC—
“…This is not a test. This is not nostalgia. This is retribution.”
—more static, faint Allman guitar in background—

“To the architects of the Controlled Substances Act…”
“You had your hearings. You buried the science. You ignored the patients. You criminalized the wounded and sanctified the synthetic.”

📡 The voice crackles—acid sharp, courtroom crisp:

“The Controlled Substances Act is a relic. A rusted muzzle wrapped in bureaucratic lace. You weaponized classification like a leash, tethering medicine to fear, and calling it order.”

Rodney: “Whoa, what station is this?!”
Carlin: “Truth Radio. FCC won’t touch it. It’s got rabies and receipts.”
Eeyore: “Kinda sounds like my last VA appointment.”

🧠 Cohn continues:

“You can stall reform. You can gaslight the science. But you cannot outlive the consequences.

Schedule I was your scripture. But now we bring the gospel of necessity.

And I promise you—every patient you denied, every veteran you labeled, every life you left to rot in red tape—they are testifying now.

In gardens. In courtrooms. In Congress.

This is your Controlled Collapse.”

—STATIC FLARES—

“Rescheduling is not mercy. Descheduling is not surrender. It’s the indictment you tried to dodge.”

🎙️ FINAL TRANSMISSION:

*“This is Cohn Mode. Broadcasting live from the wreckage of your bad faith.

The CSA is terminal.

And the people have already walked off the prescription pad.”*

—signal fades into thunder, then back to “Midnight Rider” solo—

Rodney: “I don’t know what the hell that was—but it made my hemorrhoids clench.”

Carlin: “Let’s ride.”

Eeyore: “At least someone finally said it.”