Yesterday's honky-tonk hero, Bad Blake, arrives at a bowling alley in Clovis, N.M. It's another in a string of low-pay, low-turnout gigs with pickup bands half his age, grinding the greatest hits out of an old Fender Tremolux, including his breakout — with the chorus, "Funny how falling feels like flying ... for a little while." Bad isn't flying these days; he's dying slowly on a bourbon diet, holed up in motels watching Spanish-language smut, interrupting his sets to... More >>>