I have never been a big fan of Johnny Cash, which in some circles brands me as a heretic. I didn’t enjoy hearing him sing. No one ever credited him with being a skilled musician, and he likely would not have argued the point. I did not agree with so many musicians, critics, and fans who thought his song lyrics were profound. There were a few that rose to the occasion, but most of them were rather simple. Many of his fans and even a few biographers have painted him as a scholar — I have my doubts. I also thought the whole “man in black” persona was rather cheesy and contrived.
I do, however, recognize the impact he had on so many other musicians and entertainers. It is amazing how many people in the industry collaborated with him, especially later in his life. He helped launch the career of Kris Kristofferson, one of the best songwriters of popular music in the 20th century. I know Cash is a bit of a legend in the entertainment world, a reputation he spent a good deal of time cultivating. He was certainly a man of conviction, and on multiple levels.
Johnny Cash was also very close to evangelist Billy Graham, and the minister apparently admired the entertainer for his public testimony about his faith. Cash devoted much of his creative output to gospel music, often times at the risk of falling out of favor with record labels, producers, television executives, and some of his fans. He loved deeply, believed passionately, and endured incredible heartache and pain at times, including the physical kind. I don’t think he was as much of an outlaw as he portrayed himself to be or as the media depicted him. But he was definitely an outlier.
Most people who know anything about him understand that Johnny Cash had his share of flaws: addictions, infidelities, mental instability. He was also plagued with constant inner struggles. He was a troubled soul who clung to the faith of his Christian upbringing, even though it seemed impossible for him to follow a righteous path. The vices always seemed to get the best of him, even by his own admission. I suspect guilt played a huge role in his religious convictions, especially the death of his brother at a young age and the fact that his father blamed him for the unfortunate accident that took his brother’s life.
In the context of 20th century music, Johnny Cash is a name that is as immediately recognized as Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, or Willie Nelson. He is indeed a legend, a celebrity who crossed multiple genres in the world of entertainment. I have recently started performing a Johnny Cash song in my solo shows. The one I selected is “Ring of Fire,” which has one of the most complicated and imbalanced rhythms of any song ever written in American popular music. I certainly don’t play it in the odd time signature that was produced in the studio. I doubt very seriously if I could even come close. Hmmm. Maybe old Johnny’s music wasn’t as simple as I once thought.
Chuck Berry statue in the Delmar Loop in St. Louis, MO
In the spirit of giving credit where credit is due, no one deserves the title “The Father of Rock-n-Roll” more than Chuck Berry. So many of the legends of the genre revered him and covered his hits, including The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Keith Richards said if rock-n-roll had a name, it would have to be Chuck Berry. Even that white boy from Tupelo, referred so often to as the “King” of rock-n-roll, covered Berry’s tunes.
Chuck Berry’s life is not really a rags-to-riches story as he was born into a middle-class family in St. Louis where he lived his whole life. Growing up just beyond the eastern boundary of the Ozarks region, Berry was heavily influenced by rock-a-billy and country music, elements of which would end up in many of his greatest hits. Of course, Berry also grew up during the era of Jim Crow in a part of the country that had a dark past with race relations. Sadly, according to R. J. Smith in his brutally honest biography (Chuck Berry: An American Life, Hachette Books, 2022), Berry apparently carried his response of anger, resentment, and frustration to extremes at times, taking opportunities to insult and humiliate people, even those who adored him, and telling them, “Now you know how it feels to be black.”
Smith does a good job of balancing the artistry, intelligence, talent, and even the charm of Berry with the ugly side of his personality. Some of the stories about Berry make me think that he may have had some kind of serious psychological illness, like bipolar disorder. To say he was a womanizer would be to let him off the hook. He demonstrated signs of being what many folks in the post-MeToo era would define as a sexual predator and even a pedophile. At the very least, it is fair to say he had strong sexual appetites that wandered into the realm of the taboo and even aberrant.
His sexual deviance, along with his violent tendencies and his resistance to authority, including the IRS and government in general, got him into legal trouble on several occasions. He was sentenced to jail time more than once. One could argue that he shared this path with many of the outlaw country stars like Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, and many others. Some rap and hip-hop performers who were no doubt influenced by Berry on some level would also be plagued with legal problems and prison terms.
No matter how bad the news was for Berry, he was still highly respected by the biggest names in the music business, including Bruce Springsteen. He was an early cross-over musician, infiltrating white homes with his unique style of playing and singing long before black performers were even allowed to eat in many restaurants or stay in hotels when they were on tour. He was beloved by millions of fans all over the world, even when he continued to attempt to perform in his 80s as dementia began to claim his mind and memory. His impact on 20th century music and beyond cannot be overemphasized, complete with his flaws and his brilliance.
I had the privilege of being directly involved in the planning and implementation of the 2023 Smithsonian Folklife Festival, an annual event that takes place on the National Mall in Washington, DC. With a history going back over fifty years, the festival is usually scheduled over a ten-day period roughly encompassing the last week in June and the first week of July. It is produced by the Smithsonian’s Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage and honors living cultural traditions while celebrating those who practice and sustain them. One of the programs selected for the 2023 festival was focused on the Ozarks, a region of the U.S. that is centered in southern Missouri and northwest Arkansas but also includes small portions of northeast Oklahoma, southeast Kansas, and extreme southwest Illinois.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
I began working in 2019 for Missouri State University Libraries on a part time basis, assisting with projects sponsored by the Ozarks Studies Institute, an initiative of the Libraries. A fortunate turn of events led to the Smithsonian partnering with the Libraries for the Ozarks program of the 2023 festival, with the Dean of Libraries serving as a curator. The Dean offered me a full-time position eighteen months prior to the event to serve as an associate director for the university’s participation in the festival.
The Dean and I teamed up with another part-time employee of the Libraries who has written two books about the Ozarks and has extensive cultural knowledge of the region. Our trio served as the core planning committee for the university to collaborate with the festival organizers from the Smithsonian. One of the first jobs we tackled was coming up with a name for the program. After considerable deliberation, we decided on “The Ozarks: Faces and Facets of a Region.” Our trio made numerous trips to visit with people and organizations throughout the region, in all five states, to spread the word and generate excitement about the festival. A small group of Ozarkers, including our planning trio, visited the National Mall in the summer of 2022 to get a clearer picture of how the event looks and works. We took two musical acts with us to perform as a preview of the 2023 Ozarks program.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
Over the course of a year, we worked with the Smithsonian staff to identify key stakeholders from the Ozarks who could assist with fundraising, program content, identifying other curators and participants, and overall planning of the festival. We had Zoom meetings almost every week for over a year to hammer out all the details, and several festival organizers from the Smithsonian visited the Ozarks multiple times to get a better sense of the region and to meet with our team.
Using artists from the Ozarks and from the DC area, the larger planning team came up with design features for the festival that would reflect the natural beauty of the region. We had to decide on color schemes, fonts for signage, layout of the festival grounds, daily schedules of events, and a whole host of other elements. In early 2023 we began meeting with the festival logistics staff to work on structural and mechanical requirements for the site. We also met with interns and volunteers who are brought on each year to help the Smithsonian with festival participants’ needs regarding transportation, lodging, meals, and a wide variety of other accommodations. By the time June arrived, there were over 150 people involved in either planning or implementation. It is a massive effort.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
The festival was open each day, June 29 through July 9 (with the exception of July 5), from 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., followed by evening concerts most nights running from around 6:30 to 8:00 p.m. The Ozarks program site was situated under the trees on the south side of the Mall, just east of 14th Street SW. On the opposite north side of the Mall was the other program for the 2023 festival, which was called “Creative Encounters: Living Religions in the U.S.” Each year the festival is open on Independence Day, where people gather by the hundreds of thousands along the corridors, paths, and grassy fields extending from the Potomac River all the way to the Capitol to await the spectacular fireworks display at dusk between the Lincoln and Washington Memorials. I don’t typically go out of my way to see firework displays, but the colorful explosions that serve as a backdrop for the imposing Washington Monument are mighty impressive.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
The Ozarks program was divided into four major themes: celebrations and gatherings; stories, sounds, and show business; migrations, movements, and pathways; and connections to land and place. The site featured large-scale murals and a mountain-bike trail build, music jam sessions and performances, dance and plant-knowledge workshops, food and craft demonstrations, and curated discussions. The Ozarks program included multiple theaters. There was a theater for discussions and demonstrations of plant knowledge, one for cooking demonstrations, one called the “Pickin’ Porch” mostly for music during the day, and one called “The Front Porch” for panel discussions. Both festival programs shared a large main stage out in the middle of the Mall that was reserved for musical workshops and performances during the day and for the larger evening concerts.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
The Ozarks program brought close to 60 musicians to the festival, which is a clear indication of how important musical traditions are to the culture of the region. There were at least eleven different ensembles of varying sizes, along with many individual musicians, specializing in several different genres including Native American music, traditional old time music, bluegrass, folk, country, gospel, and contemporary. Foodways, plant knowledge, arts, crafts, and storytelling were demonstrated by white Ozarkers but also by many other ethnic groups that call the Ozarks home, including Native Americans, African Americans, people of Hispanic and Latino heritage, Marshallese, Hmong, Khmer, and Syrian. Contrary to much of its history over the last 200 years, some of the “faces and facets” of the Ozarks show remarkable diversity in race, ethnicity, and culture.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
The largest and most recognizable musical group that the Ozarks program sponsored played on the main stage for the July 4 evening concert. The Ozark Mountain Daredevils is a band that originated out of Springfield, Missouri, in 1972. The group had several hits in their early years including “Jackie Blue” and “If You Want to Get to Heaven.” The band has evolved over the decades, losing and replacing band members and even going into a type of semi-retirement in the early 21st century. In recent years the Daredevils have enjoyed a bit of a resurgence, appearing on the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville on two occasions in 2023. They put on a hell of a show for the DC festival and for hundreds of people within earshot of the main stage that evening.
Ozark Mountain Daredevils
My primary job during the days of the festival was to occupy the Missouri State University Libraries table set up near the main entrance of the Ozarks program. With the help of one of our student workers, I was selling several books about the Ozarks and answering questions about the festival program and the region in general. I was surprised by how many festival visitors told us they were either from the Ozarks, had lived in the Ozarks, or had fond memories of visiting the region. Many of these folks have lived and worked in the DC area for years, and they were so happy to see the Ozarks featured on the National Mall. We could definitely detect a sense of pride in their voices when they talked about their connection to the region.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
Perhaps the most enjoyable connection I made during the time of the festival was with the two guys representing mountain biking, one of the fastest-growing forms of recreation in the Ozarks, especially in northwest Arkansas and Missouri. Seth Gebel is a young entrepreneur who owns Backyard Trail Builds. He goes out into the forest armed with only hand tools and cuts down cedar trees, trimming them out to create bridges, ramps, and runs for biking trails. He designed and built a short, curved and banked track at the entrance to the Ozarks site at the festival. Dave Schulz works within a nonprofit organization to help community leaders in revitalizing their towns by developing bicycle-focused public parks and sustainable trail systems, preserving natural environments while drawing tourism from around the world. Both of these guys gave daily riding demonstrations on the track that Seth built for the festival.
Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
The most magical moment for me came on the final evening of the festival in the dining room of the host hotel. A group of Ukranian vocalists from the Creative Encounters program stood up and began singing a traditional folk song in their native tongue. They were followed by several other individuals and groups from both programs, standing to sing and inviting others in the room to participate through responsive chanting, vocalizations, and clapping. As I witnessed what happened, I recognized that this festival offers us a snapshot of the best of humanity, the wonders we are capable of producing when we embrace our differences and come together to learn from each other.
When my wife and I moved to Springfield, Missouri, in late 2018, I had no idea how vibrant the music community would be in this town of 200,000+ people in the heart of the Ozarks region. Within a few months, I was participating at a weekly open mic night jam where musicians, singers, and songwriters gathered to perform a wide variety of music, which was mostly classic rock, country, pop, and the occasional folk tune. As we became more immersed into the community through work and social activities, I learned this part of the country has an incredible musical legacy going all the way back to the early 19th century when immigrants began to settle in southwest Missouri and northwest Arkansas, bringing with them musical traditions from southern Appalachia rooted primarily in Scotland and Ireland. Old time music jams, or house parties, lasting all night sprang up throughout the hills and hollers featuring various stringed instruments like fiddles, mandolins, banjos, upright bass fiddles, and guitars. Weekly old time and/or Bluegrass music jams still exist today in the rural Ozarks in places like McClurg, Missouri, and Mountain View, Arkansas.
Microphone
The regional music scene gained national attention in the 1950s with the “Ozark Jubilee,” a live, nationally broadcast country-western variety show on ABC Television originating from the Jewell Theater in downtown Springfield from 1955 through 1960. Many country music stars began or advanced their careers by appearing on the Jubilee including Porter Wagoner, Patsy Cline, Brenda Lee, Johnny Cash, and the Philharmonics. The Ozarks Studies Institute of the Missouri State University Libraries is in the process of locating and digitizing episodes of the Jubilee and making them available to the public on YouTube, a project with which I have been directly involved. The playlist is at https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjcjShg6ypA54TjijKG6ty9WpPDxkn-Xw
“Ozark Jubilee”
Many people in the Springfield area argue that the “Ozark Jubilee” opened the door for another major movement in the entertainment industry centered about forty miles south in the little hill town of Branson, Missouri. Just as the Jubilee was going off the air in 1960, the Herschend family was building a 19th-century-style Ozarks theme park just west of Branson they would call Silver Dollar City. One of the major attractions of the park was live music, mostly consisting of traditional fiddle or square dance tunes but also Bluegrass. As country music rose in popularity across the nation, a few entrepreneurial musical families saw an opportunity to open theaters for country music variety shows along Highway 76, the hilly, curvy road that connects downtown Branson to Silver Dollar City. With the theaters came restaurants, hotels, shops, and other attractions. By the 1980s, some of the aging country music stars of Nashville, and even some of the younger ones, began either playing shows along the strip or opening up their own theaters. Over the next two decades, Branson exploded into a tourism mecca offering family-friendly entertainment centered around country music, with a whole lot of white Protestantism and patriotism thrown in for good measure.
Springfield, Missouri (www.springfieldmo.org)
The Branson boon began to wane as the 20th century ended, although Highway 76 is still filled with a multitude of tourist attractions and theaters and all the trappings that accompany them. Fortunately, nearby Springfield continued to be a music town, although it never aspired to be like Branson. Many people here maintain, and I would agree, that the Springfield music scene is more authentic, with only minimal interest in attracting tourists. We have certainly seen our share of that authenticity. The first band we heard in Springfield was on New Year’s Eve 2018 at Moon City Pub on Commercial Street, which was also the location of the weekly open mic night I would begin attending. The name of the band was Mood Ring Circus, an ensemble of four twenty-something guys who were gifted musicians, singers, and songwriters performing their original, hard-driving tunes. We were blown away. As it turned out, the lead singer for the band was also the host of the aforementioned open mic night. His name is Justin Larkin. The pub closed down during COVID, and the owners sold it; however, Justin has continued to host open mic jams at several locations around town.
We have become good friends with Justin and his family. He has produced and recorded me performing several of my own original songs and a few covers in his garage studio. He plays multiple instruments on the recordings and sings harmony parts. This year we are working on a song we wrote together titled “Miles of Time,” which is an absolute rush for me. Justin is about the only person I know personally who makes his living performing music. He plays mostly in southwest Missouri but occasionally tours through the western states playing in clubs, breweries, and restaurants. He is immensely talented as a musician, vocalist, and songwriter. His music is streaming on multiple platforms, and he has his own website at https://justinlarkinmusic.com/
The second musical group we heard was a married couple, Shannon Stine and Natalie Wlodarczyk, two women who call themselves The Shandies. They both play guitar and sing, performing mostly in southwest Missouri. The Shandies are wonderful songwriters, musicians, and vocalists. They have a dedicated page on Spotify. Their shows are a nice mix of their own music and eclectic selections of mostly soft Americana tunes from the last fifty years. The third performer we heard was a solo act, a guy named Dallas Jones. Equally talented on the guitar and the keyboard, Dallas has a voice that could have come straight out of Nashville. He is also a multi-generation cattle farmer. It has been a pleasure getting to know him over the past few years. The genres of music we are drawn to are similar, which include pop, soft rock, and country from the last fifty of so years. Although I am older than Dallas by a couple of decades, we both cut our musical teeth on the folksy tunes of John Denver. Dallas did me the great honor of playing and singing with me for a set at one of my gigs in town early in 2023. Dallas also has a dedicated page on Spotify.
One of the performers I met and befriended at various open mic sessions in town is a guy named Brian Pitts. He’s only a few years younger than I am, so we grew up listening to a lot of the same kind of music, mostly rock and pop music from the late 1970s and into the ‘80s. Brian was the front man in a touring band back in the ‘80s but fell out of performing for about 30 years to raise a family and build a career. He has a great voice and is an accomplished drummer. During the COVID pandemic, Brian really concentrated on learning how to play the guitar well enough to accompany himself singing. His efforts paid off, and we began to harmonize with one another during our respective open mic sets. People began to compliment us on how tight our harmonies were, so we decided to work up a few sets and put together a duet vocal show, with Brian on guitar and me swapping back and forth with guitar and keys. He came up with the clever name, “Openly Gray.” Brian is really striking while the iron is hot. He has joined several different acts: an Eagles tribute band, a Yacht Rock band, and a Hall & Oates tribute band. His vocals are excellent for these genres.
There are far too many solo and group performers in the Springfield area for me to include in this post, but here are a few more. I am only including people here who perform regularly. All of these people have either their own websites or pages on online musical platforms and/or social media.
Joe Dillstrom and his band, The Paper Moons – a multitalented solo musician, vocalist, and songwriter who also performs with a group playing soft jazzy and romantic classics.
Molly Healey – a looping violinist, cellist, guitarist, pianist, and singer-songwriter who tours with the Ozark Mountain Daredevils, the most famous band to come out of Springfield; she often serves as a recording session musician for soloists and ensembles in the Ozarks; she also has a regular Sunday evening gig with Dallas Jones in town.
Red Light Runner – one of the best cover bands in Springfield, featuring the powerful vocals of Drew Beine and the phenomenal guitar skills of Steven Sparks, who also plays in multiple bands, including Mood Ring Circus mentioned above.
Paul Thomlinson and Innuendo – another incredible cover band in town; Paul is a killer guitarist and vocalist who is a front man for the Eagles tribute and the Yacht Rock bands that Brian sings with, plus he is the other half of the Hall & Oates tribute band with Brian; Paul is also an intelligent, all-around great person.
Devlin Pierce and the Song – Devlin is a fine songwriter and guitarist with one of the most powerful voices around.
David Hoover – an Ozarker at heart who channels James Taylor and Jim Croce like no one I’ve ever heard; David is one of the best acoustic guitar players in the area.
Trent Prewitt – in his early twenties with his eyes on the prize of becoming a hit in Nashville; Trent has a wide-range country voice and is comfortable on both guitar and pedal steel; he is a songwriter and also plays occasionally with a few local bands.
Michael Evens – a sweetheart of a guy with the voice of an angel; Michael plays multiple instruments and has been a big part of the open mic scene behind the curtain in several locations in Springfield.
Don “DR” Randolph – at last, someone older than I am! DR has been playing and singing music with multiple bands in the area for decades; he is one hell of a bass player and a mainstay in the jam band of mostly older rock and country players that hosts an open mic session on Monday nights in town.
Rory Joyce – I cannot end this post without mentioning the man who hosted one of the open mic jams in town; he inspired and encouraged many of the amateurs in the area and was quite an accomplished musician and vocalist; sadly, Rory died in 2022, but his legacy lives on at the open mic night he started and built in Springfield.
During the early stages of the COVID pandemic in 2020, I wrote a pop song as a tribute to Flannery O’Connor’s brilliant short story, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.” Those who know me best will not be surprised that I would do such a thing. She is my favorite author, and I think she was a comic genius – far ahead of her time.
If Flannery O’Connor and Cormac McCarthy had a love child delivered by Neil Young, I can imagine this is what it would sound like when the baby cried. The title of the song is “I Just Don’t Fit.” I decided on a western-style tune to give it some distance from O’Connor’s South, but the darkness is still there. It’s probably enough to turn Bruce Springsteen’s stomach, but it’s the best I can do with what I have.
Me – vocals, lyrics, music, and acoustic guitar Justin Larkin – harmony vocals, electric guitar, bass, drums, mixing, and recording. (Lyrics and performance copyrighted 2021; all rights reserved)
Here’s to clean spectacles and parrot-print shirts.
“I Just Don’t Fit”
(Verse 1) My father called me a different breed, and I guess that’s what I am I must have done a mighty evil deed that even Jesus can’t comprehend You think that if I pray You can walk away But everything’s out of balance now with too many debts we can’t pay
(Chorus) Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit No reconciliation so I shoot from the hip If you’re looking for a good man you might as well quit Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit
(Verse 2) I’ve tried my hand at so many things, and I’ve seen my share of pain You’re gonna need more than common blood if you want to wash away that stain Can’t accept the fall Until you lose it all The undertaker never gets a tip; the remittance is always too small
(Chorus) Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit No reconciliation so I shoot from the hip If you’re looking for a good man you might as well quit Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit No, I just don’t fit
(Instrumental verse solo)
(Chorus) Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit No reconciliation so I shoot from the hip If you’re looking for a good man you might as well quit Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t . . .
(Final Chorus) Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit No reconciliation so I shoot from the hip I can walk away and leave you bleeding in the ditch Something must be missing ‘cause I just don’t fit No, I just don’t fit
I met Joyce in “The Commuter” office at the junior college where I began my tenure in higher education. “The Commuter” was the student newspaper, aptly named because there were no residential students at the institution. As I recall, the office was just a small interior room in the student union building, which also housed the offices of student services, a short-order grill, and a room with several billiard tables where I spent way too much time as a freshman resulting in a quarter marked with the stigma of scholastic probation.
By the time I met Joyce, I was gaining clarity and getting more serious about academics, learning to accept some of the responsibility that accompanied the freedom of the college experience. I had also given up on the dream of majoring in biology after encountering chemistry at the college level and discovering it was nothing more than higher math hiding behind glass beakers and Bunsen burners. English classes were always my favorite in high school and where I consistently made the best grades. With encouragement from advisors and after a careful look at the curriculum requirements, I decided an Associate’s Degree in Journalism would be my best hope of staying in school. A wonderful benefit from choosing that path was the friendship I developed with Joyce.
Joyce must have been about 40 years old when I met her. She would have been labeled as a non-traditional student by the college faculty. I’m almost certain she was divorced by then and had several sons, probably ranging from teenagers to young adults. I do not recall if she was returning to school or if she had just decided later in life to pursue a college education. I also don’t remember if she were actually seeking a degree in journalism or just liked writing for the newspaper. I don’t know if she ever received a degree. Our friendship started in 1979, so my recollection of details that long ago is foggy.
Joyce was a contemporary of the two professors, a man and a woman, who ran the journalism program. It was a new experience for me to have a classmate who was halfway in age between me and my parents (I was a “late” child). Junior colleges and community colleges tend to attract nontraditional students, and our institution was no exception. I knew several others by name, but I didn’t associate with them outside our mutual classes, nor did I stay in touch with them after graduating. I knew at the time that Joyce’s life was not an easy one, a stark contrast to my own. She had challenges that I simply could not appreciate at the time – a single mother trying to make ends meet while going to college and taking care of the mundane frustrations of adulthood. Honestly, I will never fully comprehend how tough her journey must have been.
After graduating from the junior college, I left my hometown to pursue my education further at another state school about 45 minutes away; however, I continued to come home on the weekends to work at a grocery store, go out with a girlfriend from high school, wash clothes, and attend church. Being raised in a Southern Baptist church, that last part of the routine was expected and not even questioned. When I wasn’t out on a weekend date, I would often visit Joyce, usually after I left work at 9:00 or 10:00 in the evening. She lived in an apartment complex not far from my home. Perhaps she still had a son living with her at that time, but I don’t recall seeing anyone regularly.
When I arrived, Joyce would ask if I wanted her to put on a pot of coffee, and I imagine the answer was “please” most of the time. She typically drank instant iced tea during my visits. Even though I was of legal age by then, I was always under the influence of Baptist temperance and never alcohol. I don’t remember ever seeing Joyce imbibe. We would sit at her kitchen table sipping our drinks and smoking cigarettes. Joyce was practically a professional smoker, never letting more than a few minutes pass without lighting up. By comparison, I was a novice, only picking up smoking while being around it so much at work and with the journalism students. Although I never would smoke around my parents (my father had quit when I was a child), my mother knew I was doing it and was greatly disappointed.
I’m sure there were plenty of times when Joyce would rather have been alone or was too exhausted to spend a late evening with me, but she never failed to open the door. I probably never called in advance – just showed up like the impertinent, clueless guy I was back then. I don’t know how many times I stayed past midnight, but it was more than once or twice. We sat at that kitchen table and had conversations deeper than my green intellect and Bible-saturated head could properly process. We talked about life, death, love, sex, religion, and more. She was widely read and had a sharp, critical mind. She was full of compassion and never judgmental, but she hated injustice and had no time for moral superiority. Although I don’t remember, I must have taken my guitar with me a few times and sang for Joyce – probably to get her opinion on songs I was composing. I shudder to imagine what she thought of my efforts, but I’m certain she smiled and encouraged me just the same.
Sometimes Joyce would tell me about the latest trouble one of her sons had landed in, which usually involved an arrest and charges for violations associated with drug use. Her eldest son was the one who no doubt kept her up at night when I wasn’t around. She spent so much time pleading with law enforcement officers, prosecutors, lawyers, and influential friends, always defending him unconditionally regardless of the circumstances. Her love was true and unwavering.
After earning my B.A. in English, I decided to stay on at the same college and work towards an M.A. in history. I started working on campus and had no reason to return home every weekend, which meant my visits to see Joyce eventually ended. However, we stayed in touch through correspondence after I graduated, got married, and started a family. I can recall getting thick envelopes with multiple pages of hand-written letters from her, filled mostly with her thoughts about current events and books or the latest news, good or bad, about her sons. She was a much better correspondent than I was. I kept her letters in a box for many years, and I painfully regret that at some point I disposed of them, probably during a move to a new house.
In the mid-1990s, Joyce was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor that would ultimately take her life. She got in touch with me and asked me to sing two songs at her memorial service that was going to be held at the Unitarian church. I have no idea if Joyce was a member there or ever attended, but Unitarianism would have been about the only brand of Christianity Joyce could have tolerated. Up to that point, death was more of an abstraction to me, manifested primarily in family visitations and funerals. Joyce’s death was perhaps my first real confrontation with mortality. I visited her once while she was in the hospital to talk about the songs. I was woefully unprepared to fathom the finality she was facing, and I remember asking her, “How are you doing?” She could have easily shot back with, “How the hell do you think I’m doing? I am dying for Christ’s sake!” Instead, she told me she was having a lot of anxiety but that the doctor was giving her medication to help. Gracious, as ever.
Her request was that I accompany myself on the guitar and create two medleys of four songs in the following combinations: “Graceland” by Paul Simon and “In Your Time” by Bob Seger along with “Circle” by Harry Chapin and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” a popular Christian hymn written by Ada R. Habershon in 1907. I was more nervous singing those songs than I had ever been up to that point. I had to get it right – no mistakes. I suppose I did. I was honored that Joyce had asked this favor of me. But now, 25 years later, I understand clearly that I didn’t do Joyce a favor at all. Like so many times in the past with our late-night conversations, her sage advice, her endless patience, and her enduring friendship, Joyce was giving me one last gift. She was confirming that I mattered to her, and that my modest musical talent was a worthy expression of my love for her. I am forever grateful, and I am a better human being because of Joyce.
Why do we visit cities when we travel? Are we looking for specific attractions? Does the history of the place intrigue us? Does the city host unique activities or events? All these features and more make certain cities special destinations. The most memorable ones I have visited fit this description, but the ones that stand out have something else that is less tangible but even more appealing. They have a soul. Perhaps there are more appropriate words to express this quality, but I believe most people know it when they experience it. For me, the city that best embodies this kind of magic is New Orleans.
Vegas has its casinos; L.A. has its tinsel; New York has its skyscrapers; well, you get the idea. Admittedly, the sites of New Orleans are not necessarily distinguishable from those of other major cities in the U.S. There is the National World War II Museum, the famed Garden District, the Louisiana State Museum, the Mississippi River, the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas, the Audubon Zoo, and the Mercedes-Benz Superdome. These attractions are fine, but the rich history, the clash of cultures, the musical heritage, the religious undercurrent, the culinary delights, and old-world architecture all come together to breathe life into New Orleans.
Canal Street
New Orleans certainly has a soul, but it also has a heart: the French Quarter. Dating from the early 18th century, this neighborhood is one of the oldest in the city. It is famous for its fine restaurants, charming hotels, the French Market, quirky antique stores, and of course, the bars. It is an area steeped in tradition, and millions of visitors to the city each year can’t resist taking advantage of opportunities like a late-night run for mouthwatering, powdery beignets and coffee served at Café Du Monde, an establishment dating back to 1862!
Café Du Monde
The heart of New Orleans has a sound, and it is music. As is true with most large cities, almost all musical genres are represented here, from full symphonic to alternative rock and country. However, it is jazz that people from around the world most associate with New Orleans. Although its roots come out of Africa and some areas of Europe, jazz as a formal style was born in New Orleans in the early 20th century. Perhaps the best-known jazz spot in New Orleans is Fritzel’s European Jazz Club, hosting live traditional performances every night of the week. We took my older son to New Orleans in 2010 to see one of his favorite bands, Pearl Jam, perform at an annual weekend festival that offers a wide variety of musical forms but pays tribute to the city’s original creation. The event is officially called New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, but most folks know it as JazzFest.
JazzFest 2010
What keeps the heart of New Orleans beating? Anybody who has ever been there knows, without a doubt, it is Bourbon Street. The street is not named for the whiskey, as many people assume, but for the French royal family ruling at the time this district was established, decades before the birth of America as a nation. Perhaps the most familiar street in the country, this thoroughfare extends thirteen blocks from Canal Street to Esplanade Avenue and is lined with bars, music halls, boutique hotels, restaurants, souvenir shops, and a menagerie of street performers, artists, musicians, and bohemians. Just about anything goes – if you can’t find it here, you won’t find it anywhere.
Bourbon Street
Our sons are grown men now, but we still look for opportunities to all get together whenever possible, especially near the holidays at the end of the year. In 2016, we decided to splurge and enjoy a nontraditional Thanksgiving away from home. We chose New Orleans for the occasion, and it was fabulous. We stayed at Hotel Chateau Lemoyne, a historic property one block off Bourbon operated by Holiday Inn that had its own little jazz bar. What a treat! We had Thanksgiving lunch at Red Fish Grill, which was transformed into a magnificent buffet with various “stations” located throughout the restaurant – the food was amazing. We took in several of the sites near and around the French Quarter mentioned earlier, including a cocktail at the Carousel Bar at Hotel Monteleone. Mostly, we spent our time meandering down Bourbon Street, “drinking” in the atmosphere of the places, and listening to the heartbeat of this wonderful city.
Music has been a central part of my life for as long as I can remember. My mother’s extended family members were faithful Southern Baptists, for whom music was the primary expression of worship and praise. I was raised in this environment and at an early age was encouraged to sing frequently, not only in church, but for elderly relatives on their sick beds, at occasional family gatherings, and during Christmas holidays. As a pre-adolescent, I became increasingly impressed with older teens who performed in church, especially those who played musical instruments. My older sister had taken several years of piano lessons, and we had an old upright in our dining room that she used for rehearsing. I was frequently scolded for “banging” on the piano.
In the early 1970s at around the age of eleven, I expressed interest in learning how to play the guitar, so my parents bought a starter instrument for me and located a teacher. My instructor was an old guy who loved folk music and wanted me to start with the basics by playing simple songs note by note. I was impatient, which in retrospect was unfortunate because this was my one chance to learn how to read music. Instead, I jumped ahead in my music books and began learning how to play open chords — the easiest ones such as C, D, G, Em, and Am. In a short time, I began picking out songs that were popular during that time from pop and folk singers, especially John Denver. I started out as an amateur musician at just the right time. Many of the songs that I loved during those years could be played well enough with 3-5 chords. I took guitar lessons for less than a year.
My primary incentive in learning to play the guitar was to accompany myself to sing the songs that my friends and I were listening to on the radio. The more I played, the better my hearing became adapted for learning songs; therefore, I never went back to trying to read a musical score. I expanded my open chord portfolio, but I was not willing to push through the pain of playing bar chords, which continues to limit me as a guitarist to this day. Soon I was given opportunities to play and sing in church. By the time I reached the 10th grade, I was playing well enough to accompany choral groups at school and sing in talent contests. My sister and I, along with one of our female cousins, formed a trio and played at nearby churches and for community groups. I was nervous playing in front of crowds, but I became better at listening to songs and reproducing them well enough for the average, uncritical audience. It was great fun, and it was a way for a short kid with not much athletic ability to find acceptance, approval, and even admiration from peers and adults.
Like most amateur musicians and singers from my generation, I also tried my hand at writing songs. My earliest influences were church music and pop/folk performers, so I began writing songs that I could sing and play for worship services and just for my own fulfillment. Some of them were good enough that I continued to sing them into adulthood. Others were absolutely horrible, and they are now thankfully forgotten. I have had the opportunity to perform original songs many times over the last thirty years, and my audiences have been quite gracious and accepting of my efforts. I continue even now to write songs, one of which I copyrighted and featured in this blog.
Sometime during my early college years, I began discovering chords on the piano. At the small community college I attended in the late 1970s, there were no restrictions on the use of the pianos in the practice rooms in the Department of Music. I would often head over in the late afternoons, when most faculty and almost all students were gone, and spend an hour or more discovering the triad configuration of the major chords and a few of the minors. By the time I had finished my undergraduate degree, I had memorized all the major and minor chords, along with sharps and flats. I had learned how to make numerous augmented and diminished chords, the major and minor 7ths, and suspended chords.
Also, my ear was better allowing me to determine the, and I stress this adjective, necessary chords to reproduce melodies on the guitar, but even more proficiently on the piano. I was playing chords on the keyboard that I was never able to master on the guitar. Solely from a mechanical standpoint, the piano is easier for me to play, and I have always taken the path of least resistance as a musician. Soon, I was singing and accompanying myself almost exclusively on the piano for church services, and then several times a year at weddings. If I listened to a song and worked at it for a while, I could learn to play it well enough to accompany myself or someone else to sing it. In other words, I was faking it sufficiently for most audiences and the people who were either inviting me or paying me to perform.
In my early forties, a friend of mine invited me to come to band rehearsal with him. He played bass for a 5-member local band covering classic rock, Southern rock, and some easy-listening music. As it turned out, they were considering bringing in a sixth member to serve as a front man. He knew I had a fairly good singing voice because he had heard me perform at a wedding. I started practicing with them regularly, and within a few months, I was singing for them. Up to this time, their drummer was the lead singer, and he continued to sing about half of our set lists for the next ten years I was with the band. It was a good arrangement. The musicians in this group were all far more accomplished than I was, but occasionally I did play acoustic and even keyboards on a few of the songs I sang for the band. Playing in that band was such a rush and fulfilled a deep desire to perform the music that I loved so much. I will always be thankful for the opportunity.
Howard baby grand piano
I am also extremely grateful to my wife, who always encourages me and goes out of her way to convince me and others that I am not a lazy musician. Of course, I know better, but I love her to the moon and back for the confidence she gives me and the praise she pours on me every time I play music. She has also facilitated my musical endeavors in direct and significant ways through amazing gifts: a baby grand piano she bought for me ten years ago and a Takamine guitar as an anniversary present in 2012. The Howard baby grand is a beautiful instrument intended for someone with talent and skill that far exceed my own, but I am astounded at how my playing has improved on this piano. I hear sounds and find melodic movements that I never sensed on other keyboards. It may not be magic, but I also can’t explain it, so it’s magic to me.
Takamine guitar
My guitars
The Takamine is hands-down the finest guitar I have ever played. It is an acoustic with a pickup and electronic tuner. I had the pleasure of playing it during the last year I was with the band, and I still enjoy playing it on my own now. It is the fifth acoustic I have owned, including my first learner model and a Stella 12-string I had in high school. Currently, I have a wood-grain Yamaha that I have had since college, a Fender with a deep blue finish that I bought from one of my band mates, and the Takamine. I need to play much more than I do, but what can I say? I’m a lazy musician. The most recent addition to my collection of instruments is a Roland FP-90 keyboard that features real wooden hammer-action keys, multiple banks of sounds (pianos, strings, organs, synth sounds, etc.), four on-board speakers, and inputs for a mic and an amp. I had a smaller Yamaha keyboard that I bought while I was with the band, but this Roland is like a Rolls Royce by comparison.
My Roland FP-90 keyboard
I have spent much of my life attempting to entertain others at home, at church, at school, at work, and in restaurants and bars. I have sung and played for weddings, funerals, parties, dinners, meetings, and other occasions. Even when I was providing music at church, deep down it was my need to perform that inspired me as much or more than any religious conviction. I addressed this issue as honestly as possible in another blog post. Music has always been my most creative expression, and I am so thankful that I had some raw talent and the right people — family, friends, teachers — to encourage me at a young age. I only wish that I had taken the time and put forth the effort to learn to read music, which would have given me so many more opportunities to give people enjoyment. And, in the end, that is the reward for me of being an amateur performer.
Most Americans are not wealthy, unless compared to the millions of people who live in less-developed countries around the world. Although there is a vast household income spectrum in this country, most of us have limits on our discretionary spending. We have to make choices, especially about our wants as opposed to our needs. Some folks are truly prudent and seek savings that other families pass up: driving small, fuel-efficient vehicles; eating at home or taking lunch to work; shopping around for insurance; or even selecting generic products over name brands. Americans are among the most consumer-driven individuals on the planet. We love our stuff! We crave gadgets, electronics, toys, and a whole host of disposable products. We will spend hard-earned money on the most useless objects to occupy the limited time we have away from our jobs. The latest obsession that comes to mind is the fidget spinner, ranging in price on the low end from $3 to $10, but going well over $400 for the designer models. Millions have been sold across the country in 2017 (and in other countries as well). What is the function of this incredible device? It spins. That’s it. Oh, and it is branded as a remedy for everything from boredom to Attention Deficit Disorder.
I have absolutely no issues with what people choose to buy with their money, as long as they are paying their own way and taking proper care of their dependents. I certainly do my part when it comes to blowing money on the absurd too. However, as I look back over the decades, I regret a few times that I didn’t make certain choices that would have afforded me with lifetime experiences and memories. One example that comes to mind was during the summer of 1984 when I was studying abroad in England. Pop music has been an important influence in shaping my world view since I was a child. Some of the lyricists and musicians from the 1970s had the effect on me that poets and painters have on others with more sophisticated taste than my own. I was and shall always be a huge fan of the music of Elton John and his long-time collaborator, Bernie Taupin. That summer in 1984, Elton John was on his “Breaking Hearts” tour and played a concert at Wembley Stadium in London. As a graduate student who depended on the sacrifices of my parents and the funds from two grants, I was on a tight budget. Still, I could have found a way to purchase a ticket, but I didn’t. There would be plenty of other opportunities to see Elton John in concert, especially in the states, but it would not have been the same. That chance came and went but left its mark on me.
Since that summer in 1984, I have made countless spending decisions — most were fairly routine but some were certainly significant. I am thankful to have more discretionary income now than I did as a graduate student! My wife and I love to travel, and even though some trips can get a bit pricey, I never regret the money we spend this way because of the incredible experiences we share during our journeys. In recent years, I have taken advantage of opportunities to attend concerts with family and friends because I never want to miss out like I did that summer so many years ago. My older son and I saw Bob Dylan a couple of years ago — who knows how much longer this musical icon will be around? We also saw Pearl Jam in the band’s hometown of Seattle a few years earlier. I understood about 2% of the lyrics that Eddie Vedder sang, which is absolutely irrelevant. My son is a huge fan of the band and the whole grunge movement, and I was so glad we could take the trip.
My wife tells a proverbial story from several years ago when she was stressing over the decision to spend extra money on a wonderful hotel for a trip we were planning to Rome. She asked the opinion of a good friend and mentor, who wisely said, “Five years from now you won’t remember how much you spent on the hotel, but the two of you will never forget the experience of staying at that place.” She was such a wise woman, and we followed her advice with absolutely no regrets. In that same spirit, we have attended several concerts in recent years and have seen some incredible shows, including Fleetwood Mac and Earth, Wind & Fire. In 2012, The Rolling Stones announced that they were coming to Newark, New Jersey and to New York City for a 50th anniversary limited tour. Thinking that the band might be announcing their retirement, we jumped at the opportunity to see them. We bought plane and hotel tickets and made it a long weekend in NYC, which was expensive. Do we remember how expensive now? No. Will we ever forget the moment Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Ronnie Wood, and Charlie Watts walked out on that Prudential Center stage? Can’t imagine. Of course, we couldn’t have known then that the Stones would end up touring several cities in the U.S. the next year and are still making appearances around the world. Again, no regrets.
The Rolling Stones, 2012
One more example should be enough to make my point here a tad more convincing. The Eagles are a band that helped define the music of our generation. They have a tumultuous history of substance abuse, infighting, breaking up, and reemerging from the ashes. They also created some of the most memorable music of the rock era. Their harmonies were close to perfect, their lyrics spellbinding, and their performances were almost legendary. They have won almost every major Grammy and at least five American Music Awards. They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996. When the band announced the “History of the Eagles” tour for 2013, we paid an additional fee to grab early tickets and the best seats we could afford. Their concert in Charlotte on November 15, 2013 was truly the best show I have ever seen. The vocals, instrumentation, stage presence, lighting, acoustics, and video production were just outstanding. As a reporter for the Charlotte Observer wrote, “The Eagles didn’t just give fans a typical concert Friday at Time Warner Cable Arena. It gave generations of fans a musical history lesson from its 1971 formation to its 1994 reunion.” As thrilled as we were at the end of that phenomenal evening, it would be just over two years later that we truly appreciated how fortunate we were to have been there. The news on January 18, 2016 of the unexpected death of Glenn Fry, the band’s front man and one of its founders, sent a shudder through the world of popular music. It also drove home to us the realization that, whenever possible, we need to take advantage of every one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that comes along.
We have all been there at one time or another. We spend hours, days, weeks, or even months making plans for an important event. We take into account every conceivable variable, leaving nothing to chance. We play out scenarios in our heads and make adjustments along the way as we try to predict how every second will unfold. We write and rewrite schedules, have meetings with all the key players, and make sure that all participants understand their roles. We even have a rehearsal, a “dry run,” in attempts to catch any last-minute omissions and pave the way for a flawless finish. All of this careful preparation, and still, something unexpected happens. Something goes terribly wrong. This scenario is played out at festivals, concerts, conventions, board meetings, and many other gatherings; however, the one place we all hate to see it happen most is at an occasion that is expected to be nearly perfect — a wedding.
Wedding bands
As an amateur musician and performer in a small town, I was hired to sing at weddings several times each year for about twenty-five years. I witnessed some unusual rituals in the preparation for and implementation of the ceremony. Brides and grooms are typically nervous as the big day approaches, and some even need medication just to make it through the wedding. I once had a request from a mature bride preparing for her second marriage who wanted to practice standing face-to-face and holding hands with her fiance in my living room while I played the entire song to be included after their exchange of vows. “We need to be prepared for how awkward this is going to feel,” she said. I’m quite sure neither of them felt more awkward than I did at that moment.
Some weddings end up being less than what was planned simply because of unrealistic expectations. There will always be those couples whose wedding fantasies are so removed from the realm of possibility that disappointment is the inevitable outcome. Here are a few examples.
Outdoor weddings in the South during summer – everything and everyone melts
Weddings on the beach – frat boys on spring break live for this crash opportunity
Very young children as attendants – they invariably cry, run, pick their nose, or pee
Including animals of any kind – could there be a more unpredictable element?
Reciting vows totally from memory – they forget each other’s names AND their vows
Of course, all the careful planning in the world cannot prevent the occasional catastrophe. I have heard photographers stumble and crumble down the steps and land loudly in the bottom of an empty fiberglass baptismal pool ten feet behind the altar where the minister is rendering an eloquent blessing for the couple. We have all seen, either in videos or in real time, members of the wedding party fall out on the floor after locking their knees and fainting. I have seen my share of wardrobe malfunctions, coughing or sneezing fits, uncontrollable nervous laughter, power outages, and the all-too-familiar dropped wedding bands rolling down the center aisle of the church.
One of the funniest mishaps occurred at an outdoor wedding back in the 1970s where I was hired to play my guitar and sing during the ceremony. The weather was pleasant that day with no rain in the forecast. The venue was a lovely public park with a small fountain covered by massive oak tree canopies. The plan was for the wedding party to walk down a series of steps along an embankment leading to the lower level where the service would take place. A groomsman was in charge of bringing Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” on his cassette player, and the sweet, elderly woman serving as the wedding director had the responsibility of hitting the switch to start the song when the bride made her grand appearance at the top of the steps. We all sat and watched as members of the wedding party made their way down the steps without a single stumble or hitch. There was a brief pause, and then the bride, escorted by her father, crested the hill in her flowing white gown, took her place at the top of the steps, and waited for the music. The groomsman’s “boom box” was a state-of-the-art dual cassette player, and for reasons defying all comprehension, he had failed to remove the second cassette from its deck. When the director flipped the switch, instead of hearing the most recognized wedding song in modern history, we were all assaulted with the Blues Brothers’ rendition of “Soul Man.”
Is there one particular wedding disaster that rises to the top of the pile in my memory? Well, of course there is. I was hired to play the guitar and sing two songs for another outdoor wedding at a National Historic Landmark in middle Georgia. It was late July. At 6:00 p.m. when the ceremony began, it was hot and humid enough to wilt silk flowers. The wedding party was large, and they all had to walk across an expansive grassy lawn. The minister decided that weddings, like all religious services, are an opportunity to give an abbreviated version of the gospel message, which he did with all the fervor of a tent-revival preacher. My musical contribution was to take place after the exchange of rings, and my cue was the release of two white doves from behind a drape that served as the backdrop for the minister and the bride and groom. Just before most of the guests expired from heat exhaustion, the rings were exchanged with the appropriate promises and proclamations. I waited for the doves to ascend to the scorched heavens. And I waited. The guests began to turn to one another, realizing that someone had dropped the ball. I felt several hundred eyes staring at me as I sat on my little stool over to the side nervously waiting for an aviary extravaganza to commence. As my face began to turn an even brighter shade of red, I saw a young man come running from behind the drape, around a long privet hedge. He skidded to a stop beside me, leaned over, and whispered loudly, “The doves died! Sing the damn song!”
If You Want My Opinion 