The song “White Lines” (2015) by Slim & the Beast doesn’t exist on any streaming platforms, which means in at least one way I can call this a Substack Exclusive (full lyrics + a Sofar Sounds video (2018) down below). Shout out to my twinbo for the killer slide guitar and Aurelien Amzallag for an insane guitar solo.
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I was having drinks with
and a few Texan friends the other night in as close to a legitimate speakeasy one can find in 2024. The bar specializes in whiskeys from all over the world and is only accessible via the utility closet of one of the best Neapolitan pizzerias in the city. But like the restaurant’s name, and like most of the best places in Paris, the details would belie the true value of a speakeasy in the first place.1Over an elegant glass of Irish whiskey (Green Spot, I recommend it) my friends and I were chatting about our past experiences with psychedelics, when (let’s call her Sally) mentioned the first time she ever tried mushrooms. At a high school party Sally was offered what she thought was an imperceptible dose of mushroom chocolates, only to find the road suddenly split in two during her drive home.
Sally had never taken mushrooms before and, being a teenager, had no idea that mushrooms, specifically, can take an hour or two to take effect (especially after a big meal). Terrified as she was, she distinctly remembered not losing her shit on the highway but rather focusing on staying in the right lane, trusting that yes, the right lane was real, thus focusing on the reality of the white line on the shoulder that led her safely back home.
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“One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.” André Gide, French Nobel Prize Winner
Sally’s story brought back to me, “White Lines,” a blues/road song that I wrote almost a decade ago with my former band, Slim and The Beast. We’re all adults here and this is the Internet, which means while I hope you, dear reader, understand that I’m not condoning operating speeding masses of metal under the influence of psychedelics, I’ll say it anyway—don’t drive on psychedelics—but the point here isn’t about how we all do dumb things as teenagers humans, but rather how in doing dumb things we often learn important lessons, i.e. to remember trusting the white line the journey during moments of reckless abandon personal growth.
Such is the unspoken sentiment in “White Lines,” one of the first songs I ever wrote at the ripe age of twenty-six, during a time when I began experimenting with various substances … and while I’m not explicitly condoning the use of drugs for the general public because the pharmaceutical industry does a fine job all by itself, I do advocate for psychic, spiritual, and literal adventures because [see Andre Gide quote up above]
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“White Lines” is a song story about a person picking up speed on a highway with aspirations for a horizon they have yet to define. Slim and The Beast, with whom I recently started playing music again, got a taste of the rockstar lifestyle before our March 2020 European Tour “career” was rudely interrupted by a global pandemic (as I often tell my walking tour clients, we reached the proverbial zenith at Paris’ Zenith Arena, playing to a room of 5,000 people the day before France shut down and the world changed irrevocably):
With a decade of life and love and sex-drugs-and-rock-and-roll in the rearview mirror, Sally’s story reminded me of “White Lines” and my continued belief that when life gets hairy and when the road splits in two,
there’s reckless wisdom in staying the course, even especially when traveling towards an unknown destination.
TLDR: DON’T trip and drive but DO seek out new adventures.
Happy New Years and to the journey in its myriad forms,
Samuél
“White Lines” (2015) by Slim and The Beast
Leave home in the mirror, landscape fading fast
Keep your eyes on that white line, somebody said, don’t look back
Picking up speed now, I’m finding my way
Won’t stop till I’m empty, I’ll carry that weight
No sign of trouble, no change of plans
And if I don’t make it, they’ll understand
‘Cause I knew where I was going when I left town
and I’ve come too far to turn this whole thing around
Pull off the road now, the sharp edge of town
Looking for signposts, and that’s where I find
A warm kind of feeling that flows through my hands
Get down on my knees with a fistful of sand
Off in the distance a shadow appears
A face that I dreamt of, a face that I feared
Rise from the wasteland, I look in his eyes
Some kind of shelter, I finally realize that
I knew where I was going when I left town,
and I’ve come too far to turn this whole thing around
Stick to the white lines, nothing but white lines, stick to the white lines
I tipped my hat, can you help me sir, I’m trying to find my way
The clouds turned dark and the lightning struck, he said son don’t dig your grave
I’ve seen that devil in the passenger’s side of so many men like you
Drive too fast, it’ll turn you blind, do you know where you’re going?
Do you know where you’re going? Do you know where you’re going to?
The same is true for writing a book: the more you talk about writing it, the less potential it has to exist.
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