Ode to the Pedal Steel

If you were bored enough to wonder what to include on a recording to make it more probable that I will like a song and keep listening, I will save you some time trying to figure that out. Undoubtedly, the answer is a pedal steel guitar. Long a staple of country music, in the last few decades it has been featured in country rock and rock bands (e.g., The Eagles, Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker, The Grateful Dead, Neil Young, Son Volt, etc.) and even blues acts (e.g., Robert Randolph and David Lindley have stretched the pedal steel way beyond its traditional boundaries).

I owned a pedal steel guitar for about forty years. When I first got it, I had already befriended a gentleman in Southern California who was a terrific player. He started to teach me the basics but, unfortunately, after a few lessons, the heart ailment that already had him on disability took him. To be clear, he was a wonderful person and the loss of him as a pedal steel teacher was secondary. Nonetheless, for many years I did not touch the pedal steel because it made me think of him and, frankly, I found it intimidating.

We had a neighbor when we lived in Houston who would never hold himself out as a pedal steel expert but he was certainly competent. When I asked him whether I should give it another try at the age of 42 he laughed and said, “Sure, why not? But you have to understand, trying to learn pedal steel is like playing ping pong in a hammock.” That was enough for me to set it aside for another couple decades.

I tried to encourage J.C. to take it up but we were surprised how hard it was to find a pedal steel teacher in Houston. We figured Texas would be overrun with them. Beyond that, we realized that learning the pedal steel at the age of twelve was probably asking a lot, no matter how game J.C. tended to be about things.

Last year, I stared at the pedal steel in my music room. I had turned it on twice in the last seven years. I finally admitted to myself that I was never going to achieve the gorgeous sounds of Dick Meis, Buddy Emmons, Paul Franklin, Jr., Bruce Bouton, Lloyd Maines, Leo LeBlanc and other legendary pedal steel players. So it made the trip to Denver and into J.C.’s basement. After taking on the violin, guitar, mandolin and banjo, the pedal steel did not seem as daunting all these years later. Over the last year, as time allowed, he started learning what many say is one of the hardest instruments to learn, but he is making great progress. And our visits to Colorado have become even more fun, as evidenced by the videos below.

One final word on pedal steel players. As near as I can tell, there are as few pedal steel players as there are lots of guitar players. Every pedal steel player I’ve met seems to know every other pedal steel player. Dick Meis used to host a pedal steel jam at a cavernous bar near our home when we lived in Golden, Colorado, many years ago. There would be 15 to 20 players sitting at their pedal steels in a huge circle taking turns playing classic country to blues and, occasionally, jazz. Every few songs someone would play a song that they all knew and they would all play. The “Wall of Sound” would have humbled Phil Spector. If you ever get a chance to go see a bunch of pedal steel players jam, particularly in an enclosed setting, do it. It will be unlike anything you’ve experienced musically before.

Songwriter Spotlight: Joe South

One of my favorite memories from my childhood was riding in my grandfather’s pickup in southeast New Mexico. Whether we were driving east into Carlsbad or west into Texas or just driving around his ranch, he would have AM radio playing. In between the livestock report, the weather forecast, Paul Harvey and the local news, the station would play country music. This is where I found many of the artists that I still listen to today.

            My grandfather’s radio is where I first heard Glen Campbell, Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings and Tom T. Hall. They were some of my favorites but their music was not too far afield from the other regular artists on that station. When I was about nine years old though, I heard one of those songs that, looking back, moved the musical boundaries for me. The song was “Games People Play” by Joe South. I had never heard of Joe South but his name certainly sounded country and there was just enough twang in his voice to be played on Carlsbad radio.

            It was funny that my grandfather and I enjoyed riding around together so much since he generally was waiting for the songs to be over so he could get more information about what was going on in his community. I was usually waiting impatiently for Paul Harvey to say “And that’s the rest of the story” so the station would get back to the music. So, I was not surprised that my grandfather knew nothing about Joe South.

            I was surprised, however, when I got home to California and mentioned to my father how my new favorite song was “Games People Play” by Joe South. Dad not only had heard the song but had a passing familiarity with Joe South. He and my Mom got me Joe South’s Greatest Hits for Christmas. It was one of the first records I ever owned. Up to that point, I survived on my sisters’ Beatles and Herman’s Hermits albums and my parents’ Eddy Arnold, Jim Reeves, Patsy Cline and Dean Martin LPs.

            Joe South’s Greatest Hits tread dangerously close to the forbidden line between country and rock and roll that my parents monitored in their household. They didn’t ban rock and roll—it just could not be played when they were in the house. When my parents would go out for an evening, my sisters (and their little brother) would revel in their rock album collection until the car headlights turned back in the driveway a few hours later.

            Even though Joe South was as heavy on electric guitars and rock beats as anything the Beatles or Monkees could muster, for some reason, I was never asked to “turn that off please.” Later, when I started to build my record collection, I was often mystified by the artists that my parents could not co-exist with, but Joe South seemed to fly under the radar.

            “Games People Play” won the Grammy for Song of the Year in 1970. A couple years later, Lynn Anderson won a Grammy with South’s song “Rose Garden.” Several other artists have had hits with Joe South songs over the years. But, after “Rose Garden,” he seemed to drop out of sight. It wasn’t until years later that I learned that, like so many other talents, he succumbed to addiction. Today, few people have heard of him.

            I still like to tell or remind people about Joe South because I think he is one of the vastly underrated songwriters of all time, even with winning a Grammy. He was also an extraordinary guitarist who was in great demand as a session musician (Dylan’s “Blonde on Blonde” album and Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sounds of Silence” to name a couple examples).

            It took me several years to understand why Joe South appealed to me. The songs on Carlsbad radio tended to fall in a narrow band of subjects. To paraphrase David Allen Coe, they usually dealt with trains, Mama, prison, pickup trucks and getting drunk. “Games People Play,” on the other hand, dealt with us and the faces we put on for the world and, too often, for those close to us. It was confrontational but not unpleasant. Perhaps I liked it because it was full of undeniable truths, like good country music tends to be. Or maybe it was just because, for crying out loud, he was playing a sitar on a country hit.

            At his peak, Joe South was a frequent guest on variety shows hosted by stars like Campbell, Johnny Cash, Bobbie Gentry and others. He almost always did one of his songs that was not as popular as “Games People Play” called “Walk a Mile in My Shoes.” As a kid, I liked it but I really wanted to hear “Games People Play.” Over the years, I have come to have a deeper appreciation for “Walk a Mile in My Shoes.” It picks up where his Grammy winner left off but goes ahead and delivers the punches that he may have pulled before. As shown in the video, it’s one of my favorites to play.

Apparently, South managed to vanquish his demons before passing on a few years back. He said, “You know, you can go through drug treatment centers, but it's not a permanent healing until it's a spiritual healing." For a songwriter who was so gifted at conveying spiritual imagery, I found it a bit sad that it took him so long to grasp his own message. Conversely, I recently ran across a public service commercial on TV that used “Walk a Mile in My Shoes” to great emotional effect. That made me happy because, while life really is like a country song, Joe South helped explain why.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

If I could be you and you could be me, for just one hour,

Maybe we could find a way to get inside each other’s minds,

If you could see you through my eyes instead of your ego.

I believe you’d be surprised to see, that you’ve been blind.

Ch: Walk a Mile in My Shoes

      Walk a Mile in My Shoes

      Hey before you abuse, criticize and accuse

     Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Now your whole world you see around you is just a reflection

And the Lord a comin’ says you’re gonna reap just what you sow

So unless you’ve lived a life of total perfection

You better be careful with every stone you should throw.

And if we spend the day throwin’ stones at one another

Because I don’t think or wear my hair the same way you do

I may be common people but I’m your brother

And when you strike out trying to hurt me, it’s hurting you.

Now there are people on reservations and out in the ghettos,

And brother there but for the grace of God, go you and I

If I only had the wings of little angels,

Don’t you know I’d fly to the top of the mountain, and then I’d cry.

Songwriter Spotlight: Dennis de Castro, Music Lessons and the Lessons of Music

My mother muttered, “Oh my God” as we turned on to our suburban street in Southern California after she picked me up from baseball practice. I was 14 years old.

This was the day I mentioned in RIP Jerry Jeff Walker or How I Fell in Love with the Guitar. My “cool new guitar teacher” was parked in our driveway, leaning on his decrepit Carmengia, smoking a cigarette. He was a large man with even larger hair that fell in curls to the middle of his back. My mother pulled into the garage and we got out to introduce ourselves.

“Hey, really sorry about parking in the driveway but I have to pop the clutch to start my car so I try to park on a slope whenever I can.” In a daze, my mother wandered inside. This was not the way things worked in suburbia. That was the first day of what continues to be a long friendship between Dennis de Castro and me (and, eventually, between my mother and Dennis as well).

I knew from my friends who were taking lessons from Dennis’ brother that he was not going to start me on “Twinkle, Twinkle” or “Bill Bailey” or give me scales to learn. He would teach me what I wanted to learn. Now it was Dennis’ turn to be shocked. I proudly told him I wanted to learn Willie Nelson’s “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” and Tom T. Hall’s “Ballad of Forty Dollars.” To his credit, he didn’t say “Really?” but I was friends with some of his other students and I knew they were not asking to learn songs by 40-something-year-old country music artists. After a few minutes to get his bearings, he listened to the songs, figured them out quickly and then said, “Well, all right. These aren’t bad.” The next week I asked to learn “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor which I think struck him as a little more sane. It was also a bit more complex so he was able to challenge me in the process. 

For the next four years, that is how I learned the guitar. Dennis would occasionally slip a little theory or some scales in to show how the song I was wanting to learn came to be. I never picked enough of that up to be considered a musician but, by letting me roam the world of music in the places that I wanted to hang out, Dennis gave me the freedom to become a very content guitar player with just enough skill to be able to play with and for others without embarrassment, figure out songs on my own and comfort myself with music when the need arose.

After a couple years, I told Dennis I wanted to learn how to write songs. I don’t remember what he said in response to encourage me to give it a try, but I do remember that he played one of his songs. He said it was one he wrote when he was having some rough times and it just sort of poured out. It was written in about 20 minutes. His point was that that was how songwriting could be sometimes and you just have to go with it. I’ve probably written about 100 songs since then, most of them pretty bad. But I probably have about a half dozen or so that “just poured out” and they are the ones that I tend to play the most.

By our last year, Dennis and I were usually just swapping songs for our lessons. It became clear that I had reached a point roughly equal to my ambition as a guitar player. We concluded that it was silly for two friends to get together every couple weeks, play music, talk about our favorite new albums, baseball and the other things we had in common…and then for me to pay him.

Time, distance, family, jobs and myriad other distractions have interceded over the last 40+ years but Dennis and I still see each other from time to time. We play our latest songs for each other, talk about family, baseball and, most importantly, God. Without Him, I don’t think a clean cut kid from classic suburbia and a hippie rock and roller could have found and learned so much from each other. 

That first song Dennis played for me is still one of my favorite songs. It’s called “A Mountain and a Tree.” On a recent visit I asked Dennis to play it so I could share it with you. 

By the way, Dennis has been a big fan of country music for a long time now…

A Mountain and a Tree

Words and Music by Dennis de Castro

I hear you are a lonely man and you don’t know which way to go,

The blues are all around you and all you want to be is home,

Tell me what you’re thinking about, tell me what I really want to know,

It’s so hard to see inside you, you don’t have to hide yourself no more.

And it’s a long way to go when you don’t have yourself a home,

You’re thinking about your young years when all you did was roam,

You keep looking for an answer without using your eyes,

And listening to someone who keeps telling you lies,

Where are you going, what have you done?

Why are you walking, you should be learning to run.

Take a look inside your eyes, tell me everything you see,

Who are you now, who are you going to be?

The colors of your dreams they all have scattered to the corners of your mind,

Get rid of the separation, fulfill your destination and mine.

I am a mountain top touching the sky,

You are a redwood that’s grown so very high,

So plant yourself upon myself and feel our strength combined,

The colors of your dreams they now have definite design,

You lost yourself and found yourself by looking through at me,

I am the man inside you, the man you want to be,

So now we are together, our minds they now are free,

Together with the unity of a mountain and a tree.

New music from The Red Petals, JC and even some gigs!

Oddly enough, The Red Petals released a live album in the midst of a pandemic with no live music. There are a few originals and a few covers, all of them good. If you are a Clapton fan, you’ll love I’m So Glad. Listen to the live album on Spotify here or on Apple Music here.

JC and I will be playing at Creekside Bean and Vine on July 16 from 7:00 to 9:00. The other Red Petals members will join in for bits of a folk/bluegrass evening as well. Then the band will plug in and play on July 17 from 5:00 to 8:00 pm at the Spearfish Festival in the Park.

In the meantime, here’s a new song from JC about a summer in Alaska.

RIP Jerry Jeff Walker or How I Fell in Love With the Guitar

This is about Jerry Jeff Walker who passed away recently. But, I start with Willie Nelson because the two names are never very far apart for me.

Growing up in Southern California I was the only Willie Nelson fanatic at Torrance High School. I was 14 years old when Willie’s Red Headed Stranger album came out. As Nashville haplessly tried to emulate disco (but with a twang), out of nowhere a 42 year old hippie-looking-guy from Texas comes out with a sparse concept album filled with western ballads and swing tunes. The first time I heard “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” on AM Radio (remember that?) I was riding in my Mom’s car on the way home from Lucky Supermarket. I was in my early days of buying my own music but I knew I had to have that record. I bought it and played it until the vinyl crackled with evidence of my love.

            As I collected Willie’s records, probably the happiest product of my obsession was that Red Headed Stranger made me want to pick up the guitar that I had tried to learn to play a few times over the years. My cool new guitar teacher parked his dying Carmengia in our driveway because the only way it would start was if he rolled it downhill and popped the clutch. When he walked through our front door, he was momentarily disoriented when I told him that the first song I wanted to learn was “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” Not “Stairway to Heaven” or “Smoke on the Water” or any of the usual requests from his students. He obliged and even allowed later that it was a better song than he expected at first blush (These days, I think he listens to more country music than I do. More on him in a future blog entry).

            Shortly after Red Headed Stranger, Willie, Waylon Jennings, Jessie Colter and Tompball Glaser came out with an album entitled Outlaws. The record was intended to showcase artists that bucked the “Nashville Sound” and thus were “Outlaws” within the country music genre. They did a tour to support the album. My sister took me to the Hollywood Bowl to see the show and, from the first note of “Whiskey River,” I was captivated. It was my first concert and the first of about a dozen times that I saw Willie. That concert was my first experience with country music that hinted at rock. A lot of it had to do with the raucous crowd but there was also a free-wheeling feel to the music that, as advertised, strayed liberally from Nashville’s confines.

            After that first concert, the same sister bought me Ridin’ High by Jerry Jeff Walker for my birthday. I had never heard of Jerry Jeff Walker nor did I know that he wrote “Mr. Bojangles.” Neither did my sister. But the guy she was dating at the time told her that if I liked country music, I would like Jerry Jeff.

By the standards of country music at that point in time, Ridin’ High was not country music. I quickly realized, however, that it was my music. Country music with the big sound of rock and roll (not to be confused with modern country music which is, by and large, pop with a dash of country). To be sure, there was pedal steel guitar (which I love) but also electric guitars, horns, twin drummers and vocals filled with joy, grit and pathos. Jerry Jeff delivered what Willie hinted at—music with a complete disregard for musical boundaries that, somehow, unabashedly had its roots in country music.

            I saw Jerry Jeff open for Willie several times. You never knew what you were going to get at a Jerry Jeff show. He was notoriously unreliable because he was reliably addled. But some nights were pure magic. I remember one night at the L.A. Sports Arena when the band walked off so that the pedal steel player, the late Leo Leblanc, could play a solo. As Leblanc made his way into a medley of patriotic songs culminating in “America the Beautiful” (not what the crowd was expecting!), Jerry Jeff wandered back onstage to linger just out of the spotlight and listen. It was clear he wasn’t there to rouse the crowd to a patriotic fervor but just to enjoy Leblanc’s mastery of the steel guitar. The crowd of real and fake hippies and cowboys gradually rose to their feet as one, momentarily sober with appreciation and reflection. Jerry Jeff didn’t reclaim center stage until the standing ovation for Leblanc played itself out. It was one of the most generous moments I’ve ever seen the leader of a band give another member. Then, Jerry Jeff barreled into 45 minutes of “Hill Country Rain”, “Gettin’ By”, “LA Freeway” and, of course, “Up Against the Wall Redneck.” It wasn’t 0 to 60 in record time. It was 60 to 120.

            Jerry Jeff was a nightmare for his record label because he shunned convention at every turn. With royalties still pouring in from “Mr. Bojangles,” he didn’t really need the “record company.” So, while the record company prayed for another hit, Jerry Jeff recorded songs that made him feel something. More than any other artist, when I play a Jerry Jeff song on my guitar, I feel something because his song selection was so completely detached from artifice or agenda. By “Jerry Jeff song” I mean songs that he wrote or didn’t write. He was a great interpreter of other people’s songs as well as a gifted songwriter. When I heard that Jerry Jeff died in October, I sat down in the Music Room and started playing all of his songs that I knew. It ended up being a long session.

            Both Willie and Jerry Jeff gradually drifted into being icons of the “Outlaw” music movement associated with Austin, Texas. They certainly deserved the label and did a lot to solidify the audience for that genre.  But, when an artist becomes a symbol the days of groundbreaking music are probably behind him. I think it was best captured when someone asked Willie why he didn’t write songs anymore. He answered that it was hard to write songs when you’ve got money and you’re not miserable anymore. (He was also asked around the age of 65 when he would retire. He asked in return, “All I do is sing and play golf, which one would I give up?”)  

For one mediocre guitar player, however, Willie and Jerry Jeff’s impact was profound. They gave me a body of music that I have consistently returned to over the years. Willie saved traditional country music in the nick of time. For better or worse, Jerry Jeff caused country music to loosen up. For better, some have built on that legacy. For worse some have taken the license he granted into the more synthetic aspects of pop.

  The songs on Willie’s and Jerry Jeff’s albums from the 70s and early 80s have long been my musical ground zero. Whether I have been happy or sad, renewed or exhausted, clear eyed or confused, I have turned to the guitar and, more than anything else, Jerry Jeff tunes. Back in October I relished once again losing myself in the gift of his music. It is always elastic with possibilities.

            Here’s a few videos of my sons and me playing some of my Jerry Jeff favorites. The first is a Mike Burton song about Alaska, then a Guy Clark song and, finally, my favorite Jerry Jeff song that he actually wrote.

Enjoy and, as Jerry Jeff liked to say, “Never let a day go by.”

Songs from The Road

I did an album of original songs 20 years ago and called the record The Road. I found a box of CDs of the album a couple months ago and decided to tie them in with a Facebook fundraiser for the country of Burkina Faso where Kay and I visited in 2013. I did videos of each of the songs on the album for each day of the fundraiser. Most importantly, we raised $5000 for the cause!

The videos are all available on YouTube and can be found here. The album is available on Itunes, Spotify, etc.

Four Corners Music, the Legend of Eddy Lee and Reciprocating Joy and Meaning

I recently made my way through Ken Burns’ latest documentary effort, “Country Music.” I thought it was one of his better productions and do recommend it. He highlights how certain areas of the country were critical in the development of country music. Obviously Nashville was hugely influential but also Bakersfield, Austin, the hollers of Appalachia and the desolate lands of the Dust Bowl. It got me thinking about the signature music that has come out of so many different places in the U.S. There is blues in Memphis and Chicago; jazz and folk and opera in New York; Motown in Detroit; country rock and punk in Los Angeles; cajun and zydeco in Louisiana; southern rock in, well, the Deep South; grunge in Seattle and pockets of rock and roll that have risen to the top briefly in places like Georgia (REM), Minnesota (Prince and Dylan) and New Jersey (Springsteen).

I lived in Denver for many years. While Denver really has never claimed a single defining music, there is no denying that it is a great music town. Red Rocks Amphitheatre alone sets Denver apart as a destination for music lovers.

In addition to enjoying many concerts in Denver while I lived there, work often took me to the southwest corner of Colorado and the northwest corner of New Mexico. The area around Durango, Colorado and Farmington, New Mexico makes up the eastern half of what is known as the “Four Corners” where four states share a common point on the map.

I was surprised how often I stumbled on music that I really liked when I traveled to the Four Corners area. To be sure, much of the music was country but it was country that mixed easily with folk, rock, Mexican and, surprisingly, bluegrass. It was not typically as hardcore as the Kentucky Bluegrass highlighted in Ken Burns’ “Country Music” but a freer wheeling mix of mandolins and dobros that co-existed comfortably with pedal steel and acoustic guitars. Unfortunately, I did not collect a lot of music in my visits to Four Corners. I would typically hear a local group at an outdoor event or in a bar or restaurant and be struck by how it seemed that I was always running across good music there.

Over my lunch hour one day in my last few years in Denver, I went outside to an annual event dubbed “The Taste of Colorado” to grab a bite and see what was going on. Denver would cordon off blocks of Downtown so local restaurants could set up and promote their offerings combined with carnival-like attractions as well as a couple stages offering live music. At “The Taste” that day I saw the group Hired Hands performing. They were mostly a very good bluegrass band but their lead singer was a guy named Eddy Lee Bullington who also went by Eddy Lee. Eddy Lee was a country rock singer with a distinctive but pleasing style. He was definitely not a typical bluegrass singer. But there was something about the blend of his high quality mainstream country vocals with a mountain bluegrass band that really grabbed my attention. Without even knowing that they hailed from Northern New Mexico, I thought, “This is that sound that I seem to always find in Four Corners.”

I lingered watching Hired Hands longer than my lunch hour. When they did “Rusty Old American Dream” by David Wilcox I decided I had to buy one of the CDs they were selling at the show.

The Hired Hands CD that was on sale did not include Eddy Lee. The Eddy Lee CD that was on sale did not include the rest of Hired Hands. Apparently the two had only recently joined forces. Nonetheless, I bought both CDs and have enjoyed them for many years. But the Hired Hands album was very much a bluegrass album and the Eddy Lee album was very much country/country rock.

Once the internet took hold and the world was no longer a place of unanswered questions, one day I searched for Eddy Lee Bullington only to discover that, sadly, he had committed suicide a year or two earlier. I continued to enjoy listening to his “Horses on the Moon” album and the Hired Hands album but neither completely recaptured that magical afternoon in Denver.

Those who subscribe to Spotify will be familiar with their daily playlists. Through means that I probably don’t want to know, Spotify greets me each day with a playlist of songs that Spotify has concluded I will probably like. I’d say they hit the mark about 60% or 70% of the time. A few weeks ago there was a playlist of country and bluegrass that looked promising so I put it on and sat down to eat breakfast. I didn’t pay much attention until a song called “Tried, True and Tested” came on and I thought “That sounds like Eddy Lee!” I picked up the stereo controller and saw that, indeed, the song was on a Hired Hands album called “Stuff That Works.” I quickly looked the album up and realized that it had been done after I saw Hired Hands at Taste of Colorado but before Eddy Lee’s death. “Stuff that Works” sewed up the loose ends that were missing on the CDs that I bought back in Denver. It is mostly an album of covers but it perfectly captures the Four Corners sound that I loved but never preserved in my music collection.

Why spend the time to tell you about Eddy Lee and Hired Hands and the merits of one album in a sea of music? Well, because another feature of Spotify is that you can see how many people are listening to a particular artist. Very few people listen to Hired Hands and “Stuff that Works.”

I have been working my way through a list of the Top 100 albums of all time (according to one source). I am only a short way in but Captain Beefheart’s “Trout Mask Replica” is number 96 on the list. I can honestly say that listening to that album was physically painful for me. I thought it was awful. But, that’s me. Clearly, the album meant something to a lot of people to end up on that and many other Top 100 lists. Since I believe that the primary function of music is to prompt personal joy or introspection, I have little patience for forcing one’s musical tastes on others. Even if music first makes you confront feelings you either didn’t want to confront or didn’t know you had, if it affects you in a way that makes you rejoice or comfortable with an emotion or creates a memory that re-emerges each time you hear that music, I think music has done its work. Certain music may work on me but not on someone else. That’s fine.

So, my point is not that you must love Eddy Lee and Hired Hands. My point is that I connected with their music (particularly on “Stuff that Works”) as deeply as other artists that I have enjoyed who have Spotify listeners in the millions like Willie Nelson, Bruce Springsteen and the Beatles. Willie, Bruce and the Fab Four have publicity machines at their disposal that keep their Spotify numbers in the stratosphere. But artists like Lori McKenna, Tift Merritt and, most particularly, Hired Hands, recede from view if those they have touched don’t speak up for them. In the case of Eddy Lee, if I had been able to tell him, “You may wonder if anyone is listening. Well, I am and I love it,” maybe it would have changed something for him and those who loved him.

There is a lot of great music out there in your favorite genres by artists you (and many other people) have yet to discover. Go find them. Share them. You might just change your life or, better yet, theirs.

Songwriter Spotlight: Tift Merritt

While I was living in Alaska in 2005 I heard Tift Merritt’s album “Tambourine” during a work gathering. It seemed like a good album and some months later I bought my own copy. I liked it but I wasn’t enthralled, despite the fact that it was nominated for a Grammy.

In 2008 she came out with her album “Another Country.” I was enthralled. “Another Country” is a collection of songs written in Paris where she apparently took a bit of a hiatus. The song “Broken” got some radio play and it probably is the best song on the album. But, every song on the album is very strong.

“Another Country” was followed by an unremarkable album which was disappointing. I suspected that Tift may be one of those artists that has one great album in her. But then in 2012 she released “Traveling Alone” and my suspicions proved unfounded. “Traveling Alone” is every bit as brilliant as “Another Country” but has a very different feel. 

I have seen Tift Merritt in concert three times and thoroughly enjoyed each show. I highly recommend immersing yourself in “Another Country” and “Traveling Alone” and then going to see Tift. She is one of the great, unheralded songwriters out there today.

I have taken a stab at “Traveling Alone” in the attached video. Whether I do it justice or not, do yourself a favor and listen to her version.

  Traveling Alone by Tift Merritt

 This morning, if it all was gone, funny thing, it wouldn't phase me none.
Might feel like I just got home. See, I always had a taste for traveling alone.

 Only get this one time round, better speak up straight, better speak up proud.
Good Lord, if he's not at home, well, I always had a taste for traveling alone.

 Oh If I had a son, I would make him laugh, I would teach him something.
I'd say, Son, you gotta hold your own, and it's good to have a taste for traveling alone.

 Oh If I had a love, I would say, Man, got to keep up.
Got to lay down, baby, feed my soul, 'cause you know I got a taste for traveling alone.

 Oh If I had a song, I would sing it now, wouldn't take too long.
I'd sing, Goodness is a real bare bone, and it's what you do when you're traveling alone.

 Down south, baby, in the heat, I was raised up right, I was raised so sweet.
Sweetness ain't gonna get you home. You're bound to get a taste of traveling alone.

 I know that the world is mean, I know it don't care, I been around, I seen it.
It's like a pretty girl who don't even know. I guess everybody here is traveling alone.

 Cigarettes and a pick up truck, I'm gonna leave this town now, I got to press my luck.
Ocean gonna break so slow. You know, I always had a taste for traveling alone.

Live at the Tetons

We went to see friends who live in Jackson, Wyoming recently. They told me to bring a guitar so I could play at the Hootenanny. It turned out to be a fun night with several good musicians. Apparently, the Hootenanny has been going every week for many years. Some people have played at it 400 or 500 times. I played the title cut from the album I recorded in 2001 called The Road (if you click on the title, it will take you to Amazon) as well as a Johnny Cash tune.

A couple of funny things about these videos. There is a crooked picture of the Tetons hanging behind me in the video. The view shown in that painting is pretty much the same view that I was looking at from where I was sitting. I’m not sure why they needed a painting when the real thing was right there…Also, the older gentleman who comes up on stage after I play the Johnny Cash song was 87 year old Bill Briggs. He hosts the Hootenanny and was the first person to ski the Grand Teton—in other words, he was probably the first Xtreme athlete!

Brad

The Red Petals Black Hills Tour

Heading off for some travel so doing the monthly update a little early. The Red Petals came to the Black Hills this weekend for a show in Rapid City and one in Spearfish. Here are a few clips.

First some straight ahead rockin’ blues (replete with bass and drum solos), followed by my favorite Van Morrison song and then a little late night bluegrass in the Wyoming countryside. Enjoy!

Songwriter Spotlight: Lori McKenna

I love great songwriters. Some of my favorites have gained a level of fame but most toil in relative obscurity. From time to time, I am going to feature some of these incredibly talented people on this Music blog as a “thank you” for the times they have moved me or made me move. I will usually attach a video of the artist or my sons or me or someone playing one of the artist’s songs.

About a decade ago a friend bought me a copy of Lori McKenna’s album Unglamorous. I vaguely recalled hearing of her because Tim McGraw and Faith Hill were trying to make her a star. So, even though the production had that Tim McGraw/Faith Hill sort of feel (which sometimes I like, sometimes I don’t), it didn’t take long to realize that most of the songs on that album were incredibly good. “Drinkin’ Problem”, “Written Permission” and “I Know You” all were so original that I thought (again) “Good thing I opted for being a lawyer because I could never write songs like this.” 

As a result of that first gift, I bought each subsequent Lori McKenna album. If I had to recommend just one it would be Lorraine. But her most recent album The Tree is outstanding as well. To test your ability to keep your emotions in check, read the lyrics for “People Get Old” as my son Cal plays it for you:

                                                People Get Old

Someone said, "Youth is wasted on the young"
I spilled every last drop of time that summer in the sun
My daddy had a Timex watch
Cigarette in his hand and a mouthful of scotch
Spinnin' me around like a tilt-a-whirl on his arm

Houses need paint, winters bring snow
Kids, come on in before your supper gets cold
Collection plates and daddy's billfold
And that's how it goes
You live long enough, people get old

I sat up right beside him in the cab of that truck
Goin' thirty miles-an-hour down a side road talkin' 'bout the fish we caught
And I'm older now than he was then
If I could go back in time, I would in a second, to his beat-up blue jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off

Houses need paint, winters bring snow
Kids growin' up and sneakin' out the window
Hittin' every small-town dirt road
And that's how it goes
You live long enough and people get old
Yeah, people get old

Daddy keeps busy in the afternoons playin' cards by himself
And he shouldn't be shovelin' that first snow, but you know he won't take the help
Full of pride and love, he don't say too much but hell, he never did
And you still think he's forty-five and he still thinks that you're a kid

One day you'll find yourself sayin' the things that he said
You'll be walkin' down the hallway, turnin' off every light switch
When you twirl your kids in your arms
Before you know it, it won't take too long
They'll be runnin' off makin' a life just like you did

Houses need paint, winters bring snow
Nothin' says "love" like a band of gold
Babies grow up and houses get sold
And that's how it goes
Time is a thief, pain is a gift
The past is the past, it is what it is
Every line on your face tells a story somebody knows
That's just how it goes
You live long enough and the people you love get old

Songwriter: Lori McKenna

Cal and I will be playing together at Good Day Cafe in Spearfish on June 19. Come on out to Spearfish’s coolest new music venue.

The Red Petals' Debut Album is Out!

As many of you know, my son J.C. is part of a blues trio called The Red Petals. J.C. (vocals and guitars), Austin Pacharz (bass) and Matt Lowber (drums) have been working for almost two years on their debut album. I am indisputably biased but I think it’s a terrific piece of work. The production is professional, the playing superb and the songs are lyrically and melodically original and accessible.

Perhaps what I like most about the album is that I think the music spans the generations. I know that the band’s contemporaries will love it because they keep turning up for the shows. But I genuinely believe people my age will enjoy it as well. Some of this is throwback music that will convince the younger set that not all old music is boring music and will convince the older set that there is still great new music to be had. A bit about the songs:

Apple Tree Girl is simply infectious fun.

Back Before You Know It harkens back to some of the early blues greats.

Silver Moon just needs a bottle of wine, a sunset and the one you love to be complete.

I defy you to get Bourbon Street out of your head after listening a few times through.

Prelude and She’s on Fire are a wonderful combination of influences from Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors and Stevie Ray.

Tumbleweed is J.C.’s shot at a classic blues riff that he does proud.

Finally, Built a Prison not only rocks but has something to say—one of my favorite combinations.

Give it a try and, if you like it, give it some love by clicking on any of the following sites, or wherever you get your music. It’s available for download now but will also be out on vinyl soon as well (which I think is really throwback!).

Brad

Itunes

Amazon

Spotify

New Red Petals Video

In anticipation of The Red Petals' upcoming album, here's a video of them playing one of the songs from the album, Apple Tree Girl.

The Music blog

I have been playing guitar and writing songs for over 40 years. In 2001 I released an album of original songs called The Road that is available online.

One of the great blessings of my life is that my sons, J.C. and Cal, play guitar (among other instruments) and sing as well. All three of us do gigs from time to time and J.C. has a terrific blues trio called The Red Petals. I'll post upcoming gigs, news and the occasional album or concert review here.

Me, Cal and J.C.