Timmybones

One night, I was listening to the fast version of �House of the Rising Sun.� It is a live recording, seven minutes long. Behind the singer, the band chants �rising sun, rising sun� over and over, and the audience claps to the fast beat. The piano, the clapping hands, and the tambourine sound like church and juke joints, like sweat and heat, free and alive. I started dancing. The sound of the tambourine had me shaking my head back and forth, twirling in circles, and pumping my arms and legs up and down like I was performing a tribal ritual, like I was one of Alvin Aileys dancers.

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