Dear Chris:
You're dead, but you didn't die before you could sing through the sickest mics and route your drums through the sickest echo fx. You recorded some rocking songs without Alex. Maybe you liked the young pussy too (who shouldn't?), but I doubt you were lazy. You got everything: marimbas, synths, mellotrons, pianos, guitar with tone, slide, crackle, reverb, wood blocks, your beautiful voice, heartbreak. Cowbell. And You and Your Sister. Hope Eric C.'s not too much of a douche up there in heaven, but I bet John L.'s OK. I see Leadville, CO and a dream about an eagle when I listen to your posthumous record and envision its album cover. Thanks for what you left us.
Yours in Christ,
Matt
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