[The Rez]

Regarding Mr. Brown . . .

It's a bit of a go-round, but a defining time for a Little White Boy in the mid/late 50s and early 60s. Stay w/ me, please . . . Here we go-round:

Mr. Brown went home on Christmas Day. Just like the day Brother Ray went home, the Little White Boy cried. The Old-Man White Boy cried, too.

As Ebenezer Stones like these rise, a person comes to look back to who brought 'em just to where they are. For me, the *begats* were Brother Ray, Elvis, Mr. Brown, and John Stewart.

Truly, a very logical lineage for me . . . even tho odd on the surface.

Not counting the Grand Ol' Opry [which counts Big Time] this Little White Boy knew, from the moment he heard his first Race Record [Brother Ray's 'Goin' Down Slow'] he wasn't gonna do nuthin' but make The Music right on thru the Last Breath.

Elvis [who hit us all right On the One] found my Travelin' Bone w/ 'That's All Right, Mama' [even before 'Heartbreak Hotel'] '56 [that Banner Year] grabbed the 10 Yr Old White Boy by the short-hairs [soon to grow long, then longer] when The Famous Flames 'Please, Please, Please' slammed him flat against the Wall. Mr. Brown borned in Little Rez.

Brother Ray put the Epiphany in ALL CAPS later w/ 'What'd I Say' That's all she wrote . . . or so I thought.

In those Junior High years, The Kingston Trio was a gas - but only as a lark. The Bullet didn't Strike . . . up until that College Concert debut of one John Stewart [I was in the cheap seats w/ my cousin]

That 'New Kid' gave me Folk Focus. History Lesson Time again. Back
Search Time again. Just who brought John to where he was? I've come to know there are more similarities than I'd figured - beyoned just E

OK, Mr. Brown - here we go-round:

Back in '81, Mr. Brown did a club gig in South Orange County. Bein' the Local 7 Union Guy, I went free. Mr. Brown insisted everyone call him
Mr. Brown. We did.

'Bout an hour before show time, Mr. Brown kicked everybody out of the
dressing room - cep Rez. Mr. Brown said, "Say, Little White Boy - you stay!" I did.

Mr. Brown [his "do" in curlers] proceeded to go to sleep. I watched.

Just Me and Mr. Brown. Weird? Very!

Half-hour later he woke up. Hair Dude did his "do" . . . and Mr. Brown spoke: "Say, Little White Boy - tell me 'bout yourself!" I did - looking Cool in my black suit w/ a silver Icthus on the lapel. Mr. Brown [Truly Cool] leaned forward. We spoke of things Icthus for that 30 awake minutes.

Show Time:

Mr. Brown prepared to take the stage. Turnin' 'round he asked, "Say, Brother, lemme wear your Fish?" Taking the Icthus off my lapel, I placed it in his hand, saying, "Here, Mr. Brown - it's yours." He gave me that patented JB Grin, put the pin on his suit, and said, "James . . . !"

Now Brother Ray's gone home, E's gone home, Mr. Brown's gone home . . . I honor all the Founding Fathers & Mothers and their Children [all the way thru us] but only one remains of my personal Mt. Rushmore who turned my Song around - The Big Guy.

I've been *Shock n' Awed* to get to know Brother Ray a bit [thru my College Theory teacher, who knew Sid Feller from session days] and Elvis a bit [thru a Calvary Chapel teacher who went to school w/ him in Memphis] and Mr. Brown a bit. Strange Rivers, indeed . . .

Only one 'River' left - w/ a Current as Strong in my Veins as those other *black* guys. Across a virtual lifetime of Saloon Singing, the first three guys show up heavy. But, across a virtual lifetime of writing Unsung Songs - it's a Tip-o-the-Heart to the Renegade Rising still w/ the Heart of a Kid.

A 5th guy later got chisled onto my personal Mt. Rushmore - Gord

And, The Future ain't Thru . . .

So, Mr. Stewart and Mr. Lightfoot:

Good Lookin' Thing, Don't You Ever Die . . . !

The Rez