Phil Ochs – Changes

Posted on by Opher

Change – the universal law. Nothing ever stays the same.

What a beautiful song to capture the essence of that universal truth.

“Changes” By Phil Ochs

Sit by my side, come as close as the air
Share in a memory of gray!
Wander in my words, dream about the pictures
That I play of changes!

Green leaves of summer turn red in the fall
To brown and to yellow they fade!
And then they have to die, trapped within
The circle time parade of changes!

Scenes of my young years were warm in my mind
Visions of shadows that shine!
Till one day I returned and found they were the
Victims of the vines of changes!

The world’s spinning madly, it drifts in the dark
Swings through a hollow of haze
A race around the stars, a journey through
The universe ablaze with changes!

Moments of magic will glow in the night
All fears of the forest are gone
But when the morning breaks they’re swept away by
Golden drops of dawn, of changes!

Passions will part to a strange melody
As fires will sometimes burn cold!
Like petals in the wind, we’re puppets to the silver
Strings of souls, of changes!

Your tears will be trembling, now we’re somewhere else
One last cup of wine we will pour
And I’ll kiss you one more time, and leave you on
The rolling river shores of changes!

Sit by my side, come as close as the air
Share in a memory of gray!
Wander in my words, dream about the pictures
That I play of changes!

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie – Bob Dylan

Posted on by Opher

An incredible poem that captures so much. Bob really had the bit between his teeth.

I dig this out every once in a while. It combines two of my big heroes and makes me think.

I like poetry that makes me think. This does that in spades. It flows, blows and rambles but it forms a maze of words that echo around your brain.

We’re all searchin’ for summit!

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you’re too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin’ behind an’ losin’ yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life’s busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin’ up
If the wine don’t come to the top of yer cup
If the wind’s got you sideways with with one hand holdin’ on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood’s easy findin’ but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin’ and the street gets too long
And you start walkin’ backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow’s mornin’ seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin’
And yer rope is a-slidin’ ’cause yer hands are a-drippin’
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe’s a-pourin’
And the lightnin’s a-flashing and the thunder’s a-crashin’
And the windows are rattlin’ and breakin’ and the roof tops a-shakin’
And yer whole world’s a-slammin’ and bangin’
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
“I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn’t they tell me the day I was born”
And you start gettin’ chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you’re lookin’ for somethin’ you ain’t quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world’s a-watchin’ with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she’s long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they’re fryin’
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell’s bangin’ loudly but you can’t hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes’ve turned filthy from the sight-blindin’ dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an’ fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin’ three queens
And it’s makin you mad, it’s makin’ you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin’ around a pinball machine
And there’s something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin’
But it’s trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin’ in bed
And no matter how you try you just can’t say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion’s mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you’d never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin’
On this road I’m walkin’, on this trail I’m turnin’
On this curve I’m hanging
On this pathway I’m strolling, in the space I’m taking
In this air I’m inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I’m playing, on this banjo I’m frailin’
On this mandolin I’m strummin’, in the song I’m singin’
In the tune I’m hummin’, in the words I’m writin’
In the words that I’m thinkin’
In this ocean of hours I’m all the time drinkin’
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they’re around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
“Cause sometimes you hear’em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin’
And you can’t remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it’s something special you’re needin’
And you know that there’s no drug that’ll do for the healin’
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin’ train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That’s been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don’t bar no race
That won’t laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin’ long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it’s you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you’re sitting
That the world ain’t got you beat
That it ain’t got you licked
It can’t get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope’s just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner ’round a wide-angled curve

But that’s what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
“Cause you look an’ you start getting the chills

“Cause you can’t find it on a dollar bill
And it ain’t on Macy’s window sill
And it ain’t on no rich kid’s road map
And it ain’t in no fat kid’s fraternity house
And it ain’t made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain’t on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it’s funny
No you can’t find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain’t in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you’re bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain’t a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain’t in the rumors people’re tellin’ you
And it ain’t in the pimple-lotion people are sellin’ you
And it ain’t in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star’s blouse
And you can’t find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can’t tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain’t in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain’t in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain’t in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin’ and tappin’ in Christmas wrappin’
Sayin’ ain’t I pretty and ain’t I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can’t even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you’ll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain’t in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who’d turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can’t find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain’t in the ones that ain’t got any talent but think they do
And think they’re foolin’ you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while ’cause they know it’s in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin’, “Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain’t there no one here that knows where I’m at
Ain’t there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN’T REAL”

No but that ain’t yer game, it ain’t even yer race
You can’t hear yer name, you can’t see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin’
Where do you look for this lamp that’s a-burnin’
Where do you look for this oil well gushin’
Where do you look for this candle that’s glowin’
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You’ll find God in the church of your choice
You’ll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it’s only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You’ll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

My first Roy Harper gig

Posted on by Opher

My first Roy Harper gig

 

It was 1967 and I had been told by my friend Bob that I ought to check out this singer that he’d seen. He told me that he sounded like me. He talked about the same stuff. And that I’d love him. Bob was cool with his white plastic mac and black tousled hair. If he thought that then it was worth checking out.

I put it to the back of my mind.

I had recently been getting into Jackson C Frank, Bert Jansch and John Renbourn. I had a motorbike and the means to get into London. The Sixties Underground was opening up to me. I was immersed in the Blues, West Coast Acid Rock and the Psychedelic/Progressive scene. It was all happening.

Les Cousins seemed to have it all when it came to the singer songwriter and what passed as ‘Comtemporary Folk’.

I headed up to catch a gig by Bert Jansch and John Renbourn. It set me back a cool 20p.

Les Cousins was a basement club, down these stairs into the cellar laid out with tables and chairs and a stage. It was cozy.

Bert and John did individual sets and sandwiched in between was this fair-haired troubadour with a contagious chuckle and wicked mind. I didn’t twig straight away that this was the guy Bob had told me about. I was captivated by the patter. He only played three songs. I remember one was Blackpool. None of them were his epics. He hadn’t written those yet. But what he had to say and the power of him came straight across to me. I was smitten.

Roy Harper rocked my mind with the force of a tsunami. He was articulating the thoughts inside my head and putting them into words.

I knew I had to see him again soon, and quick, if for no other reason than to find out what I was thinking!

BB King – You’d Better Not Look Down

Posted on by Opher

I heard this on the radio today and it inspired me to put it up one here. Some humour and great lyrics along with Blues Boy’s great sound.

“Better Not Look Down”

I’ve been around and I’ve seen some things
People moving faster than the speed of sound
Faster than the speeding bullet
People living like Superman
All day and all night
And I won’t say if it’s wrong or if it’s right
I’m pretty fast myself
But I do have some advice to pass along
Along in the chorus of this song

Better not look down
If you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down
Keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back
Or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving
If you don’t look down

An old girl friend of mine showed up the other day
That girl have lived in love and for love
And over love, and under love all her life
If the arrows from cupid’s bow that had
Passed through her heart had been sticking
Out of her body she would have looked like
A porcupine, and she asked me
B.B. do you think I’ve lived my life all wrong?
And I said: The only advice I have to pass
Along in the chorus of this song
Girl

Better not look down
If you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down
Keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back
Or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving
If you don’t look down

I was walking down the street at sunrise one morning
In London, England
And there was a very large Rolls Royce Limousine
Pulling slowly along the street
And in that Rolls Royce was the Queen of England
Looking tired
Just go back from a party, and the Queen leaned out and
She said: Aren’t you B.B. King? She said:
Oh B.B., sometimes it’s so hard to pull things together
Could you tell me what you think I ought to do?
And I said:

Better not look down
If you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down
Keep it full speed ahead
Better not look back
Or you might just wind up crying
You can keep it moving
If you don’t look down

 

My first Rock gig – The British Birds with Ron Wood at the Walton Hop – sex on the stairs and knife fights.

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My first Rock gig – The British Birds with Ron Wood at the Walton Hop

 

It was 1965 and I was fifteen. I’d been buying singles and albums for some five years. I was mad about it. I’d discovered the Blues, Little Richard, the Beatles, the Stones, Downliners Sect, Chuck Berry and a host of others. Music had become a huge part of my life. It had displaced my pets and was even competing with girls!

That was serious stuff!

It was more than time to get a feel of the real thing. I love music on disc but it simply cannot compete with the real live deal – not that I knew that yet.

I was ready, more than ready. The Walton Hop was the only local venue I knew of and certainly the only one that I could access easily. I could walk there.

I do not remember who I went with. Perhaps I blotted them out. All I can remember is being blown away by the whole experience – not just the music. For a fifteen year old, innocent little kid this was serious mind blasting.

The Birds were on.

I did not have a clue as to who the Birds were. All I knew was that they were a British Beat group and I was told they were good.

The Walton Hop was where the rump of the Teddy Boy phenomenon was to be found. They still ruled the roost even though they were rapidly becoming an anachronism. To go to the Walton Hop was like going back to the fifties. The girls were all in those full dresses with petticoats and big bee-hive hairdos. The boys were in drape jackets, brothel creepers and shoe-string ties with greased back hair, DAs and big sideburns. They were older now – in their twenties – but they still had that air of menace. You kept to one side and avoided eye contact. We were the new generation of long-haired kids. But to them we were just kids. They ignored us. We were the teenyboppers.

The evening started with a bang. There was a knife fight out in the car park. Two Teds with flick-knives held out and one hand raised, circled each other. Around them was a circle of baying Teds. The girls were raucous – shouting at the two to get stuck in. It was like being on a film set. I stood back and watched it all with wide eyes. If someone had photographed me them I probably had my mouth open.

That was just the start of the evening.

Inside the hall it was dark and cavernous – all old dark wood – with a stage at one end and lots of people milling around.

There was an upstairs and some big old stairs leading up to a balcony. I decided to take a look. That was my second eye-opener of the night.

On the big landing, halfway up, were a group of Teds. One of the brassy looking girls with enormous back-combed beehive was being held up from behind by a couple of Teds who had hold of her thighs and were holding up her voluminous dress and petticoat up while a third was between her thighs and thrusting away to the accompaniment of lots of jeers and encouragement. The girl looked bored as if she was merely waiting for it to end. A couple of her friends looked on, chewing gum and looking equally bored, waiting for them to get it over with so that they could go where-ever it was they were heading for.

I’d never seen anyone having sex before, not that I could actually see much. It was like I was in another world.

When the band started I got myself to the front where I could see. They certainly looked the part. They had long hair, tight trousers. Cuban heeled boots, waist-coats and siddies.

When they started it was like a bomb going off. They were loud. The riffs ripped through me and the beat set my pulse going. Adrenalin rushed through my blood and from the first bars I was hopelessly caught up in it. Records were great but this was the real thing. It rocked you spirit!

They stormed through their set with someone at the back of the hall flicking the lights on and off in time to create a stroboscopic rudimentary light show. They were all over the stage. The bass thumped into my belly. The heavy chords pummeled my ears. The voice soared over it all. It was mesmerising and I was transported to another world

It was the most exciting thing I had ever experienced in my life. Even more exciting than the knife fight or sex on the stairs. This was raw, unadulterated Rock Music.

I was hooked for life.

Roy Harper – How Does It Feel? – One of my favourites.

Posted on by Opher

This is one of my favourite songs. It speaks to me of the hypocrisy of our lives. I think we all display different sides of our personality to different people. In different situations we appear to have different persona altogether.

Where is the space that we can just be ourselves?

I can really identify this. As a young man I was determined not to sell my soul to anyone. I always had that attitude of Fuck It. But the game has its way of drawing you in and exacting the compromises. There are children involved and one is drawn into the process of earning a living. A career brings its strictures.

We all end up playing the game to one extent or another.

Roy used to tell the story of a policeman in Scandinavia that he stayed with. When he had his uniform on he enforced the law. When he got home he took his uniform off and rolled a joint.

We make our choices. Do we choose to fit in? Do we vote? Become a model citizen? Do we rebel and reject the aims of society? Reject the greed and selfishness? Reject the control? Or do we try and do both?

Do we have a schizophrenic existence?

We prostitute ourselves. We strap our watches to our wrists and sell our time. We sell our ideals and dreams. We sell our freedom.

We play the game – and nobody is free of that game.

How Does It Feel – Roy Harper

How Does It Feel
How does it feel to be completely unreal
How does it feel to be a voter
How does it feel to be a voluntary heel
I wonder who’s it is
I see you queuing up outside Saint Peter’s gate,
You can feel bona fide if you ride with the tide
But it’s not real

How does it feel to be out on your own
How does it feel to be thinking
How does it feel to be out on the run
With the mindless world at your heels
I wish I had no answers to put to you
Cos they got me so high tied I feel
like most of me has died
And it’s real

And outside on the dragon
And inside in the cold
Mammy’s on the bandwagon, daddy’s just getting old
And through the blood spew heavens
The roar of lust complains:
Please let me in I have no sin, but you know I’m not real

And how does it feel to be the master’s right hand nose
How does it feel to be lieutenant
How does it feel to be stood on someone’s toes
With a leech bleeding you for rent,
When you say you want a bit more rank
You wanna be a big wheel
You can feel magnified if you hide in
your pride… It’s not real

And how does it feel with a white flag in your fist
How does it feel to have two faces
How does it feel with your god strapped to your wrist
And him leading you such a chase
You got one set of words for him,
and you got another for me
You’re gonna feel mystified when you’re identified
Don’t worry kid it’s not real

And outside on the dragon
And inside in the cold
Mammy’s on the bandwagon, daddy’s just getting old
And through the blood spew heavens
The roar of lust complains:
Please let me in I have no sin, but you know I’m not real

And through the blood spew heavens
The roar of lust complains:
Please let me in I have no sin, but you know I’m not real

Edwina Hayes at Beverley Folk Festival 2018

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Edwina has a voice to die for. When coupled with her unassuming personality with its warmth and joviality it always makes for a great uplifting concert. Her appearance at the East Riding Theatre in the Beverley Folk Festival was no exception. My only criticism was that it was too short. She sings delightful songs with a full range of emotion.

If you haven’t heard her yet here is a link to a clip of her singing the fabulous Randy Newman song Feels Like Home To Me. She makes it her own.

Van Morrison at the new Bonus Arena Hull

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Van Morrison at 73 is one of the elder statesmen of Rock and it was great to have him in Hull for the inauguration of our new Arena.

The last time I saw Van was with Them back in 1965. Baby Please Don’t Go was still in the charts and Here Comes The Night had just been released. I was fifteen years old at the time and that band, only the second band I’d ever seen live, made quite an impression on me.

Them were pretty raw and exciting and Van was a young man of nineteen with long hair with a very powerful Blues voice.

His appearance has changed a little over those intervening fifty three years but that voice has only got better. At seventy two he is still going strong.

Photo – Hull Daily Mail – no copyright infringement intended

https://www.hulldailymail.co.uk/whats-on/music-nightlife/gallery/van-morrison-opens-hulls-new-1954388

Van played an hour and a half set that was non-stop. There were no introductions between songs, no chatter and hardly a pause. The only time he spoke was towards the end when he said thank you and then again when he acknowledged the band.

He came on stage with his saxophone and began with some laid-back jazzy numbers. This was followed by a great little set of Blues numbers – Baby Please Don’t Go, Don’t Start Crying Now, Got My Mojo Working and I Can Tell – that reminded me of those heady days in the sixties with Them. This six piece band, with their keyboards, xylophone, brass, bass, guitar, female backing singer and percussion were really slick. They weren’t the raw energy of Them but they nailed it with precision and skill in a more sophisticated manner that still retained that earthiness. Van’s voice was every bit as good as it ever was – if not better.

What followed were some of his great standards – such as Moondance, Have I told You Lately That I Love You and the fabulous Warm Love.

At the end the crowd were on their feet and he did two encores – No Guru No Method No Teacher and finishing with what must be his signature song – Brown Eyed Girl.

The end was a bit different though. I did take some of my old albums along to see if I could get them signed. I didn’t expect much but last time I’d seen him with them we were invited backstage and they whole band signed postcards of the band. I had two signed by Van and the whole of the original band. Sadly I gave one to a friend and my Mum chucked the other one out! I lived in hope. But as the band entertained us Van walked straight out the back to a waiting car and was gone. Times change!

A great way to get the Arena off the ground though!

I guess these albums of mine will have to go unadorned!!

Happy Birthday Van – August 31st – 73 years old today!!

 

Featured Book – Rock Music – The Blues Muse – Chapter 2 Crystal Springs.

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Crystal Springs

 

Crystal Springs was a typical Mississippi Town. There were a lot of these little towns around the Delta. They were the centres for trade with general stores and places where those with spending money could get a drink, play some cards or find a woman. Where the white bosses could meet for business or buy equipment, and where horses, livestock and equipment could be serviced. They were all a bustle. I moseyed into the centre. There was a small square where people sometimes gathered. It was shady which offered some relief from the heat and so it was popular with buskers like myself. We’d set up on the street corner and play our hearts out for nickels and dimes. I tended to ramble round. It didn’t pay to stay in one place too long. You’d attract attention from the sheriff and he was likely to give you a bed for the night and put you to work for a month or two to pay it off. They didn’t like itinerant ramblers any too much. Besides you had a novelty value and that soon wore off. No – I stayed a day or two and left. Sometimes they’d let me play in one of the taverns and sometimes one of the plantations would take me on. If there was heavy work to be done they liked a musician out there in the fields leading the chant. It raised spirits, put in energy and paid off in productivity. I could do that but it was long and hot all day under that sun. There was nothing easy about that. I avoided it if I could. Besides, there were plenty of guys who had no option. They were blind or crippled and could not work those fields. If they could not play they didn’t eat. I was young and fit; I hated to take food out of their mouths. I was happy to ramble, play the jukes and busk for a living. It suited me just fine.

Crystal Springs was good. I was hopeful that I could add to my few coins. If I was lucky I would eat well and if I was even luckier I might just attract one of the pretty things who cast an eye in my direction and then I could end up in a comfy bed for the night.

As soon as I arrived I realised I was plum out of luck. The two best places were taken and both had attracted sizeable crowds around them. I left my guitar alone and settled back to watch and learn.

I was new to this trade and had a lot to discover. If I was not going to starve I needed every tip I could possibly get.

The Main Street was dusty. Every time a horse or wagon came through it would kick up quite a cloud. It added to the general discomfort and mingled with the sweat running down your face to create grimy streaks. We were used to it.

On Main Street there were boarded walkways for when it rained. When it rained in Mississippi it was like the heavens had simply tipped a lake over on top of you. It came down with such force that it was a mystery as to how anyone managed to breathe. The dust turned to mud that sucked you in, the street became a river and the wagons became bogged down in the quagmire. If it wasn’t for those covered boards nobody would get around.

On the boards in front of the hitching rail I recognised Tommy Johnson. He was one of my favourites so no wonder that he was pulling everyone in. Tommy knew how to entertain a crowd. He was like a magnet. He’d gather them round and magic the coins out of their pockets. I listened as he played the intricate patterns on that guitar and watched his fingers closely. Man, he was good! He was singing some song about canned heat. I could relate to that. Many’s the time I’ve had to doss down in the alleys where the down and outs live. I’d clear the sterno tins away so I could stretch out. Those guys were mean mothers. I had to cuddle my guitar to me all night. They’d steal the shirt off your back to get another tin. They never seemed to sleep. All night long they’d be heating those tins up and getting high on that juice. It rotted their minds and made holes out of their eyes but they were past caring. Tommy sure could sing about reality in that high-pitched falsetto voice of his. Not that this was the only thing about his act that the crowd found entertaining, no sir. There was nothing he could not do with a guitar. He was a crowd pleaser. He would work the crowd by playing that thing behind his head; he’d throw it spinning into the sky and catch it with hardly a stutter in the playing. It drove the women wild and they’d shriek and squeal with delight while the guys shook their heads in admiration. He’d finish off with a handstand on his guitar while still strumming. It sent shivers through me. I knew he was out of my league. I bet Tommy was never short of a drink or a bed for the night. I had no chance.

But as if that wasn’t bad enough on the other side of the square there was another of the legends of the area – Charley Patton. With his wavy hair and pale, red tinged skin he stood out. He was half Indian but it wasn’t just his looks that were striking. He too was a wizard with the guitar and Tommy’s equal at working a crowd. Whatever Tommy could do in the way of tricks he would do better. Charley had that crowd yelling. I watched as he played that old box behind his back and then walked it down the boardwalk playing it between his legs. His deep, rich voice was a contrast to Tommy’s high pitched tones and the crowds were lapping it up. A few years before Tommy had idolised Charley and learnt a lot. Now the pupil was giving the master a run for his money; though I could see that both of them were doing alright.

It was time for me to shut up shop and hit the road. I was not going to get much joy around here while these two were in town. They’d monopolise the jukes and drinking holes. I wouldn’t get a look in.

With a smile on my lips I watched them for another half hour. They were mesmerising. From where I was sitting the high voice and low growl blended into a perfect sound as their strong voices carried across the square and the guitars blended together. I couldn’t keep my eyes still as they darted from one to the other drinking it in. I was in heaven but there was no way I was going to compete. All I could hope was that I didn’t find Blind Lemon in the next place. That would cook my goose.

If you have enjoyed my writing and would like to purchase one of my books I have put some links to my best Rock books below:

 

In The USA:

 

In Search Of Captain Beefheart

 

 

The Blues Muse

 

https://www.amazon.com/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B01HDQEMQ6/ref=sr_1_43?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535030883&sr=1-43&keywords=opher+goodwin

 

https://www.amazon.com/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=sr_1_44?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535030925&sr=1-44&keywords=opher+goodwin

 

Rock Routes

 

 

In The UK:

 

In Search Of Captain Beefheart

 

 

The Blues Muse

 

 

Rock Routes

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rock-Routes-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1514873095/ref=sr_1_35?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535030730&sr=1-35&keywords=opher+goodwin

 

In other part of the world please check your local Amazon!

 

Thank you for looking and please leave a review if you enjoyed the book!!

Featured Book – Rock Music – The Blues Muse – the Dedication

Posted on by Opher

Dedication

 

This book is dedicated to all the brilliant musicians who have illuminated my life and thinking. I dedicate it to Woody Guthrie, Roy Harper, Don Van Vliet, the Beatles, Doors, Country Joe and the Fish, Tomorrow, Bob Dylan, James Brown, Nick Harper, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Waits, Syd Barrett, Aretha Franklin, Booker T & the MGs, the Rolling Stones, Bob Marley, Downliners Sect, Kinks, Phil Ochs, White Stripes, Bo Carter, North Mississippi Allstars, Eddie Cochran, Son House, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Robert Johnson, Jimi Hendrix, Elmore James, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, Nick Drake, Jimmy Reed, Byrds, Hank Williams, Bessie Smith, Janis Joplin, Arthur Alexander, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Carl Perkins, Mothers of invention, Joni Mitchell, Buffy St Marie, James Varda, Screaming Jay Hawkins, the Big Three, Eels, Neil Young, Cream, AC/DC, Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac, RL Burnside, Lee Scratch Perry, Junior Kimbrough, Stiff Little Fingers, Sex Pistols, Free, John Lennon, Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley, Arthur Brown, Lou Reed, Jackson C Frank, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Costello, Ian Dury, Slim Harpo, Albert King, Otis Redding, Little Richard, Buffalo Springfield, Love, Pink Floyd, Traffic, the Who, Bo Diddley, Birds, Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Velvet Underground, Fugs, Ramones, Clash, and hundreds more………………………

 

Thank you to Mike Green for the energy and to Liz, Cheryl, Matt, Plato. Andrew, Nadine and Ramsha for views.

 

Especially thanks to Liz and Chris Moody for the superb editing.

If you have enjoyed my writing and would like to purchase one of my books I have put some links to my best Rock books below:

 

In The USA:

 

In Search Of Captain Beefheart

 

 

The Blues Muse

 

https://www.amazon.com/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B01HDQEMQ6/ref=sr_1_43?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535030883&sr=1-43&keywords=opher+goodwin

 

https://www.amazon.com/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=sr_1_44?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535030925&sr=1-44&keywords=opher+goodwin

 

Rock Routes

 

 

In The UK:

 

In Search Of Captain Beefheart

 

 

The Blues Muse

 

 

Rock Routes

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rock-Routes-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1514873095/ref=sr_1_35?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535030730&sr=1-35&keywords=opher+goodwin

 

In other part of the world please check your local Amazon!

 

Thank you for looking and please leave a review if you enjoyed the book!!