Hey – I really want to share this new recording with you. I think I chose the songs well to include in it – like Richard Farina’s “The Falcon”, Eric Andersen’s “Looking Glass” which have so many memories for me. Even, Tom Wait’s “Heart Of Saturday Night” takes me back to those days of cruisin’ down by Narragansett Pier in the summer. And the moods of Ewan McColl’s “Dirty Old Town” and the traditional “John Barleycorn” transport me to a pub like The Grog or a Sunday Afternoon at The Stone Church. I’ve even done a new version of Ira Gershwin’s “Summertime” which is the very first song I ever learned to play. And I love the cool Western mood of my friend Scott Roby’s song “Alice” to which I added the last verse – he and I have collaborated on many songs. And I complement Stevie Pullan for his mandolin part on “The Falcon” and his harmonica and mandolin on Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads Blues” which we actually recorded several years ago. I had started working on Wild Mountain Thyme back in November of last year at my wife, Nancy’s request. I’ve always loved the song since college days when it was quite popular on the University of Rhode Island campus. On this recording, I have dedicated the song to the memory of a fine musician and friend, Rod MacKenzie, who passed away at Christmas. Wild Mountain Thyme was his signature song. So I’ve decided that I will have the album available on a demand basis. In other words, if you want a copy, I will burn one for you from the mastered wav files and include the album art and liner notes, which you will be able to order at my web site. I should have it posted there by the first of next week.
Also, If you prefer to download a copy it will be available at my Aurovone site.
So, without further ado, Part 7 of Road Trip!!
That night a faint breeze found its way through the door of Café Innisfree and seemed to cool the reddish glow that filtered around the walls. My friend Sam – the guy with the hub cap glasses, stood by the kitchen door surveying the customers with a savy, host –like smile that emulated from a deep down feeling of success. He and I started the coffee house on a shoe-string and the kindness of a few friends who wanted it as bad as we did. A little room to the left and behind the stage gave the only white light which strongly contrasted to the reddish dream like glow coming from the candles on the tables. My fingers engaged my guitar strings playfully and they didn’t jive nor were they in tune with the faint echoes of Dan’s stirring blues-changes that drifted into the tune up room. Dan was an Italian with a negro blues singer’s mind and soul which was extremely convincing when he played his music. He knew what he was talking about and didn’t care how he said it. I was listening to his harmonica wailing to his guitar playing and his voice would interrupt periodically and proclaim, most vividly, where he was at. There was no doubt about it; he was beautiful and very real. Dan’s harmonica playing vibrated the walls, raising the soul of his audience. I felt proud of him. His song was finished. The audience rose like a wave and crashed at the very bulkhead of the building. After about three minutes, the swelling subsided and Dan entered the back room, harmonica rack hanging from his neck, harmonicas bulging out his pockets, guitar in hand, and all smiles. I smiled and laughed as he fell lithely to a squatting position next to his guitar case. We laughed again. He said, “your turn!”
I swung out through the door into the smoke-thick reddish glow and listened to my boot heel as my first step echoed through the PA system. The crowd clapped lightly as I gazed out over them to meet them. Without speaking, I felt my voice rise, my fingers move and the song began.