It has occurred to me that "It Makes No Difference" is the single saddest song ever written.
It makes no difference where I turnThe eye-misting misery is not helped by the knowledge that half the guys playing it are dead, one by his own hand.
I can't get over you and the flame still burns
It makes no difference, night or day
The shadow never seems to fade away
And the sun don't shine anymore
And the rains fall down on my door
Now there's no love
As true as the love
That dies untold
But the clouds never hung so low before...
Through the miracle of Audio Hijack, here it is... (pops)
Somewhere in the mid-Eighties, attended a Rick Danko solo gig at the Lone Star Café in New York. I arrived way early to get a good seat at the bar. As I was nursing a beer and waiting for the action to start, Danko strode in through the front door, carrying a guitar case. He nodded hello to the bartender, and disappeared into the back rooms.
Perhaps a half-hour later, two men in suits also came into the bar. One of them flashed a badge at the bartender. As they were only feet away from me, I heard the whole conversation.
"Detective Hungadunga, NYPD. We're looking for Mr. Danko."
"He's supposed to play tonight."
"When do you expect him?"
"Tell him we'd like to talk to him."
And they left. I have no idea why these flatfeet wanted to talk to Danko, but I bet it was damned interesting.
The gig was great. And he sang "It Makes No Difference" beautifully, just him and a guitar.
Not a dry eye in the house.