Ranaldo was born in Glen Cove, Long Island, New York, and graduated from Binghamton University. He has three sons, Cody Linn Ranaldo, Sage Ranaldo and Frey Ranaldo and is married to the experimental artist Leah Singer, with whom he has performed many live installation pieces with improvised music.
Among Ranaldo's solo records are Dirty Windows, a collection of spoken texts with music, Amarillo Ramp (for Robert Smithson), pieces for the guitar, and Scriptures of the Golden Eternity. His books include Bookstore, Road Movies, and Jrnls80s (published by Soft Skull Press). A full-length book of writings on Moroccan travels and music, as well as a book of new poems, Lengths & Breaths, are out now. Recent visual work has been included in exhibitions at the Hayward Gallery in London, the Sydney Museum of Contemporary Art and Mercer Union in Toronto.
Ranaldo has produced albums for artists including Babes in Toyland, You Am I, Deity Guns, Magik Markersand Dutch art rock-ensemble KLEG. He has edited a volume of tour journals from the 1995 Lollapalooza Tour written by Thurston Moore, Beck, Stephen Malkmus, Courtney Love, and others. Ranaldo has also worked with jazz drummer William Hooker on improvised music, and reading and improvising poetry.
In 2004, Rolling Stone ranked Ranaldo and Thurston Moore, of Sonic Youth, the 33rd and 34th best guitarists of all time. Their playing style is very innovative and they both use a large variety of extended techniques, such as their 3rd Bridge screwdriver technique.
Ranaldo usually uses Fender Jazzmaster and Telecaster Deluxe electric guitars, with radically altered tunings, and modifications.
Letter to John Clellon Holmes
Lee Ranaldo Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
I run, jump in, she yarn, keeps yarning, wants to know if I can drive? Yes, I can drive and bloody well afraid to look at her, the curl of her milk armpits, the flesh of her cream legs, the cream,
legs, curls, love, milk, wow, did i love that, not looking but giggling, hearing she has been driving all the way from Fort Worth Texas without sleep I say "O how would you like some Mexican Benzedrine?" (which I have in a big battered pack that I just been sleepin' on beach in cold night of sea fog coast with, sad, talking to old Greeks at noon, the old Greek taking his annual vacation wanders up and down the sands looking at driftwood) - "Crazy!" she yells, I whip out my Benzedrine, yanking out all my dirty underwear and unspeakable Mexican raggedy junks and give her, she takes two, very much, we stop at a coke station and she mumps out jumping, the sweetest little perfect everything you know. We swallow benes, by the time we've raced a hundred miles and hour, and once may a hundred ten to Santa Ana and the Guadalupe Valley she's high, I'm high, we're talkin' and lovin', talkin' driving and sweating, and I can smell her sweet sweat, and my own too. And we move on up to the San Luis Obispo bump, and the impossibly beautiful California, dry, blue sky sundowns. And she calls her daddy in San Fran to cable her money, she can pickup in Salinas.
The lyrics of Lee Ranaldo's song "Letter to John Clellon Holmes" describe a vivid encounter on the road with a beautiful, blond woman in a brand new car. The singer is standing at the side of the road, frustrated by the lack of rides from passing motorists when the Mercury Mont Claire stops abruptly in front of him. The woman driving invites him to join her on her journey, and they speed off on a wild adventure through California's changing landscapes, fueled by Mexican Benzedrine.
The language used in the lyrics is rich and descriptive, bringing to life the sensations and experiences of the road trip. The singer is transfixed by the woman's beauty, with details like the curl of her milk armpits and the flesh of her cream legs etched in his mind. The use of slang and colloquial language also adds to the overall atmosphere of the piece, creating a sense of spontaneity and carefree abandon.
Overall, the song is a tribute to the freedom and possibility of the open road, as well as a celebration of the sensual pleasures of youth and adventure.
Line by Line Meaning
And then suddenly I'm standing at the side of the road, cursing the motorists of America who really are NOT giving rides anymore, but standing just where I can see the hind end of the yard tracks in case they make up a Frisco-bound freight train I'll see the bloody caboose tagged on. Cursing.
I am standing at the side of the road, angry at the motorists for not giving me a ride. However, I am hopeful that I might catch a freight train to go to Frisco. I curse them for not giving me a ride.
Angry supposedly, I'd guess, with something blackly handsome in like an Allen lad, this gun for hire; murder.
I appear to be angry, I assume, because of my appearance that resembles a gun for hire, a black and handsome Allen lad, and murderers.
Then SCREECH stops this 1955 Mercury Mont Claire, persimmon-colored, brand new paint simonized job, with blond, beautiful blond, in strapless white bathing suit wearing little thin gold bracelet at sweet anklet.
A 1955 Mercury Mont Clair, with light orange paint, stops abruptly with a blonde, breathtaking beauty, wearing a white strapless bathing suit with a gold bracelet on her ankle.
I run, jump in, she yarn, keeps yarning, wants to know if I can drive? Yes, I can drive and bloody well afraid to look at her, the curl of her milk armpits, the flesh of her cream legs, the cream, legs, curls, love, milk, wow, did i love that, not looking but giggling, hearing she has been driving all the way from Fort Worth Texas without sleep
I jump in the car, she keeps talking, asking if I can drive. I feel afraid to look at her since she is stunning. I particularly loved the appearance of her armpits and legs. I did not look but giggle while hearing she drove all the way from Fort Worth Texas without sleeping.
" O how would you like some Mexican Benzedrine?" (which I have in a big battered pack that I just been sleepin' on beach in cold night of sea fog coast with, sad, talking to old Greeks at noon, the old Greek taking his annual vacation wanders up and down the sands looking at driftwood) - "Crazy!" she yells, I whip out my Benzedrine, yanking out all my dirty underwear and unspeakable Mexican raggedy junks and give her, she takes two, very much, we stop at a coke station and she mumps out jumping, the sweetest little perfect everything you know.
I offer her some Mexican Benzedrine, which I had in my pack while I was sleeping on the beach. I met some old Greeks and talked to them during the day. She yells in disbelief but takes two of them. We stop at a coke station and she goes out jumping. She looks sweet, the perfect everything.
We swallow benes, by the time we've raced a hundred miles and hour, and once may a hundred ten to Santa Ana and the Guadalupe Valley she's high, I'm high, we're talkin' and lovin', talkin' driving and sweating, and I can smell her sweet sweat, and my own too.
We take the Benzedrine, and we race up to 110mph to Santa Ana and the Guadalupe Valley. She and I are high, talking and loving, driving, and sweating. I can smell her sweet sweat, and mine too.
And we move on up to the San Luis Obispo bump, and the impossibly beautiful California, dry, blue sky sundowns.
We drive up to the San Luis Obispo bump, where the sunset in California is impossibly beautiful, with a dry and blue sky.
And she calls her daddy in San Fran to cable her money, she can pickup in Salinas.
She contacts her father in San Francisco to transfer money, which she will pick up in Salinas.
Contributed by Aria C. Suggest a correction in the comments below.