Hi! Some news! I will be doing a live web cam performance on Glogegig Radio on February 21st at 3pm EST! Globegig Radio is based in the UK and is connected to Aurovine Music of which I am a part. At the proper time go to the link and click on the Webcam tab. I will post the link again in my next newsletter
And now page 4 of “Road Trip”!
Chapter 2 – Café Prague
Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” came on the juke box as I entered the room. All heads stopped and looked at me standing there – guitar in one hand, duffle bag in the other. I noticed a small stage in the back corner. The juke box stopped playing and I walked slowly toward the stage. My boot steps sounded way too loud. My boots were caked with mud and I felt the people there must have thought I must be some emissary from the profound movement of the “new youth”. There wasn’t a sound in the room as I opened the guitar case. My eyes gazed at the strings; I heard again the sound they made when I moved my fingers on them. I knew they were real; my own and not a regurgitation of someone else’s thing. I thought myself to be creative and to be possessed with the spirit of insight as my voice flowed with my words – the words of my soul. I remember the reactions to my work that night; the deep exhale of breath, a moan of recognition, a sob, a “yeh man”, a laugh of approval. The whole world dug me or would dig me, maybe. The entire ear of mankind has, had, or would hear me!
My arm stuck to the guitar with sweat; a sweat of fear and heat. I was apprehensive occasionally when I performed and it had cost me many a gig. My capacity suffered when I was afflicted with it. All the flamboyant voices of criticism affected me to the point of giving up all attempts of doing something good and worthwhile, but moments of continual recognition cured me of that.
From my song – Standing On The Outside – p.1968
“Standing on the outside – looking at the inside…”
And I refused to let it bother me any more. There were no voices to be heard in the room. The hour and the evening were mine and I felt that I owned the quiet. I began to play again; a haunting clown-like melody flowed forth and my song gave it birth. My song was all that existed at that point and even I was abstract from it. I set it in motion and from that point it existed entirely on its own. My throated response – my fingers moving out of familiarity, and the images fell from the words like rain.
Sunlight edged its way down the darkened halls into the closets of sleepy minds and entered the open windows of freshly waking eyes. I walked restlessly down towards the small restaurant inhabited by early morning workers discussing baseball and EXPO 67. My boot heels tapped out the melody to a new song; vibrating up to my heart and bouncing back through my voice and found an exit in the hum and semi-lyric I sang to the morning. They noticed it as I entered the door and they watched. I was as colorful as they were, and there were no jeers or laughing at me – it was too early in the morning for hatred. Instead there was an air of friendliness that greeted me and I felt it as I ordered a coffee and sweet roll. The talk continued and I didn’t listen, but handed the sugar down when I was asked to. The owner whistled and it sounded like my new song. Perhaps he heard it as I walked in and then again, maybe he heard it before or maybe his mother sang it to him. I thought it was a catchy tune and maybe it would stick, providing I didn’t forget it.