ENKINDLER

Darrell Mansfield : “The Blond Bomber of the Blues Harmonica”

Since 1969 Darrell Mansfield has been in pursuit of a creating a sound all his own, yet he has kept the foundation of his music undeniably the blues and the underpinning of his life, his faith in Christ. He has played with some of the all-time great musicians in rock, rhythm, and blues. He is a Hohner Harmonica Hall of fame inductee and in 2009, he was inducted into Blues Hall of Fame: Ambassador of California. He is an encyclopedia of music history.

Influenced by such greats as Elmore James and Jeff Beck, it’s no wonder why he plays with the heart of the harp and the soul of the guitar. He has played beside Jimmy Hall, the late Joe Turner, Eddie Van Halen , Jon Bon Jovi , Richie Sambora , Billy Idol, Ted Nuggent , Rick Derringer , Five Blind Boy’s , Earl Slick, and Billy Sheehan. While he has explored everything from blues based rock and delta blues to hard rock and southern rock, he has been a mainstay in Gospel Blues for nearly three decades. He is a forthright Christian and an advocate for orphans, prisoners and those suffering with mental illness.

The unique thing about Darrell, is that he has never wavered from his musical instincts. He grew up listening to all the great guitar heroes, Jimi Hendrix was his favorite. It wasn’t the guitar where he excelled; it was his harmonica that set him apart. He has a very intense sound, mirroring the guitar note for note. If you close your eyes, you can hardly tell the difference between the guitar tones and his harmonic aptitude. His solos often leave you wondering how he can manipulate the resonance like he does. The same goes for matching the B3, his vibrato hits the nerve of the blues right on time. It is mesmerizing. Darrell has been nominated for The 2009 Harmonica player of the year by the SF Blues Society. Around here, they call him, “The blond bomber of the blues”.

I recently spoke with him as he recovered from two events that are near to his heart: that being harmonicas and mental health. He had just headlined at the Sacramento Blues Society where he was backed by the Used Blues Band. He was amazing! He also performed at NAMI walk (National Alliance for Mental Illness) annual fundraiser. Darrell is a compassionate person, putting his money where his harp is. Darrell considers people to be the assets we can’t afford to lose.

He has never made excuses for playing gospel music, because he has lived out his faith in action. Darrell recounts, a time when B.B. King once told him, “I always wanted to play gospel music, but the churches wouldn’t let me!” Darrell laughed and responded, “I know what you mean Mr. King.”

Darrell suffers from depressive disorder and has tried suicide three times, yet has turned it into a positive narrative to encourage others who suffer as he does. His life’s work spans from all areas of music and so does his ministry. He is an advocate for mental health issues, stating that we are three parts: spirit, mind and body and we must respect each part of ourselves and take care of each.

I asked him the reasons why he thought that mental illness is often ignored in the church and society? He responded candidly, “It is the “dirty little secret” because people are desperately afraid to be honest about it.”  Darrell calls it like it is! He continued, “I would say to some church leaders, they need to wake up and realize that mental illness is just like physical illness; it needs to be treated by a doctor. It is also important to fellowship in group therapy. Shame on them who think they can just pray it away.” He spares no one in his truthfulness, not even his own tribe!

So I asked, “What do you think would help this circumstance change towards a more compassionate direction?

He responded, “Our Bible colleges and Seminaries need to train potential pastors on how to distinguish the causes of these mental disorders — they are not always spiritual in nature, but most often have biochemical factors that can be helped with appropriate medication and therapy. Those who suffer from emotional and mental disorders need friendship, love, acceptance and understanding — just like everyone else. It is time for the church came clean and started treating the mentally ill within its walls with friendship and compassion, instead of rejecting them.”

By involving himself in people’s lives, he has set an example for other musicians to follow. He is active in supporting NAMI, ministers to prisoners, and regularly visits the handicapped orphanage in Moldova. Darrell is a great choice for Blues Ambassador.

Submitted to Bluesfestivalguide.com 11/12/09

admin Blog This!

Published by Reggae Festival E-Guide 9/14/06

Mirror, Mirror on the wall - who is it that I despise?

Isn’t it funny how the behaviors that we despise most in others tend to be the characteristics we possess in ourselves? For example; A person who interrupts during a conversation may be irritating to you. You may become agitated during the conversation and wish to not even talk to this person. However, unknown to you there are several people who think you also are guilty of being an interrupter. Unless the doorway of possibility opens wide enough to bring light into our consciousness, and we begin to see clearly the mirror of truth reflecting these universal realities, we humans may remain blind to our own flaws. The simple fact is that the person who irritates you most, may be most like you. The person may just be reflecting those attributes in you. You may find this hard to swallow. No one wants to be a hypocrite.

Consider the manager who gets under your skin at work. He is so bossy and controlling that your blood pressure raises every time he enters the room. As soon as he leaves the premises you confide in another co-worker your feelings about this “know-it-all”. You exclaim, “I know several methods that would improve productivity here at work - if I was the boss I’d manage this place so much better!” Unknown to you, your co-worker is thinking, “but, you are just like our manager”.

Throughout the planet religious leaders point their fingers at those that they believe are wrong. Zealous followers quickly join in to help increase the tension hatred brings. Together, they direct they’re prayers, energy, and intentions toward the opposing belief system. All the while, unaware that those they hate the most, are only reflecting their own intolerance. These intolerant radicals only serve as reference points for each other. Both claim to have the full truth. Both claim that we are to love our neighbor as ourselves. Neither conscious of the turmoil they bring at the rest of the world’s expense. Maybe they are not able to truly love their neighbors, because they do not really know how to love themselves?

There is an ancient saying that we may wish to meditate upon this week. KNOW THE ENEMY, KNOW YOURSELF.

admin Published Articles, Short Stories reggaefestivaleguide.com

Published by Reggae Festival E-Guide 11/3/06

It seems that every time I mention the use of the Internet by teenagers, I hear parents exclaim the same concerns. Parents usually express their fears about teenagers meeting predators online, or just spending too much time sitting in front of the computer. While these are real concerns, this activity may be as harmless as sewing a quilt.

In the centuries past, young women would gather in sewing circles and learn the skills necessary to make quilts. Each would add material to the quilt that carried meaning to them. While in the circle, they would revel in town gossip, talk about handsome young boys, and share their life experiences. The quilt represented people coming together and creating, and became synonymous with connection. Now, the Web has become our youth’s medium for connection whether we like it or not.

My thirteen-year-old daughter simultaneously makes her “MySpace” Web page look cool with photos of her and her friends and instant-messaging with them. It seems her conversations with her friends never end. I’m concerned with the fact that our youth spend less time physically together, as there’s nothing like feeling the vibe and seeing the facial expressions of a friend.

I’ve had to accept that this is a whole different century our youth are living in. But, is it so different than when we were kids? They have MySpace - we wrote in journals decorated with cut-outs from magazines; they have YouTube.com - we had comics and VCR’s; they have cell phones - we spent hours on end on the telephone attached to a wall; they text message - we passed notes in class, they have Ipods with digital MP3s - we had our proud collection of 8 Tracks, LP’s, tapes and CDs. It’s funny to think how our own parents protested the new mediums of entertainment during our teen years and now as parents, are faced with whole new mediums. My parents were convinced I’d be deaf by age twenty from having a Walkman on my head all the time.

With her spending so much time on the Internet, and fear of “predators” we’ve made a rule that if you know the person in real life, you can talk to them online - with the additional fear of what she actually can see online. I guess I could install software to limit what sites her and my son can access online, but I’d have to get them to install it for me! It’s quite difficult to shelter my kids from what they see… one of our favorite shows we like to watch on TV is the Daily Show with John Stewart on the Comedy Channel… which is sadly sponsored by the close to pornographic “Girls Gone Wild” commercials. How embarrassing.

As parents, how do learn to accept these changes of the 21st century? How do we teach our teens to balance their computer life with real human connection? I try and remind myself that with every good there’s bad and vise versa. A new statistic is that teen pregnancy is down due to the entertainment via the Internet! My daughter types sixty-five words per minute and makes digital graphics that are as good as art you’d find in a magazine. I think that our youth taking part in what is leading edge now will help them survive in the future.

admin Blog This!, Short Stories reggaefestivaleguide.com

Seeing all the adorable little league kids in my town prepare for the season, reminded me of a quirky story from my youth!

When I was 9-12 years old, I loved baseball. I would play catch with myself all day, bouncing tennis balls off the garage door, pretending I was Tug McGraw pitching in the final game of the World Series. I would read books about baseball players whenever it was library day in elementary school. I would memorize statistics like the combination to a locker full of money. I was hooked on baseball, but … there is always a “but”, because there is always a “but” to every passion we pursue.

I was hooked on baseball, but I was clumsy, awkward, and overweight. I was a chubby American kid living on potato chips and Twinkies that I would trade from doing others homework. It was my junk-food-for-homework program. My family was poorer than most around us. My father had work as a mechanic. My mother would watch children in our house for twelve to sixteen hours a day to make ends meet. So, when I approached them about playing on a league team, they thought it would be too expensive. They only wanted to pursue this expenditure if I didn’t quit. “Maybe you should wait until next year!” they would say.

Every day, I would watch out the front window of our house as the other boys from my neighborhood would ride their BMX bicycles to baseball practice clad in the bright red jersey of the Mighty Salvador Mustangs. By fourth grade, I’d had enough and was determined to ask my father again. This time he responded, I would love for you to play on a team, but how would you get yourself to practice, gas is expensive and you do not have a bicycle. Besides, it was already too late to sign up to play on the Mighty Salvador Mustangs; they were the best team around. So, I kept bouncing tennis balls off the garage and practicing my Willy Mays over the shoulder catch.

In the summer following fourth grade my father came home from work early with a package. He locked it in the garage and I was forbidden to look at it until Christmas. Suddenly my life had new purpose; I had to find out what was in the box. To make a long story short, after weeks of parental imposed restriction and yard clean up for breaking into the garage…that Christmas I found out it was a bicycle.

By fifth grade, I had my own newspaper route in the morning before school, so I told my parents I could pay the league fees myself and wanted them sign me up to play on the Mighty Salvador Mustangs. They agreed to sign me up, BUT. But, because we lived between districts and because we signed up late, I would have to play for the rival team across town. The roaring El Centro Tigers, who’s colors by the way were lemon yellow and finished in last place every year. I said fine.

Now, what I haven’t yet discussed is the bicycle I had received for Christmas. It was “highway emergency cone” orange. It had a banana seat and decals that said “Dirt Buster #7″ Not cool, in a world a BMX dirt bike riding Mustangs. Luckily, most of the bike was covered in newspapers bags when I was delivering papers, but on the days of our game we were required to wear our team jersey to school. I would climb onto the banana seat in my lemon yellow Tigers jersey and ride across the neighborhood to practice. I would ride as fast as I could, but never failed to encounter a few Red Sox on the way. I guess this is what one might call, character building.

Past the chants and hollers of “Tigers Suck Green Donkey Dicks”, I would ride. I never understood why “green” donkey dicks were always such popular insults? I mean aren’t donkey dicks alone bad enough?

Occasionally- I would get pelted with rocks, sticks, or Slurpees®.

One such Slurpee incident required my mom to bleach my jersey, which made it even brighter yellow.

After two losing seasons, I decided to paint my bike and take off the decals in hopes to blend in more. I took it into the garage, where my father kept the spray paint and I just started painting it. I had never painted anything before and soon realized that it was going to be quite messy. After seeing the disarray I made, I decided to hide the bike under the junk pile on the side of the house. I knew my dad would freak out if he had seen what had become of my transportation.

A couple summer months went by and my dad seemed to believe that the bike was stolen.

I rode my mom’s three-speed for my paper route and to practices. It was not much of an improvement in the “cool department”, but it was better that walking.

Seeing my plight, my father agreed to buy me a ten-speed for my birthday at the end of July on the condition that I had good behavior.

One early Saturday, I heard my dad say to my mom, “Time to go to the dump and get rid of the junk pile on the side of the house.”

From my usual Saturday morning cartoon watching spot, I began to panic…I knew I had to do something! I didn’t know what?

Then it came to me. Put the bike over the back fence into the empty field behind our house.

I would need time. Luckily, my father had just gone into the bathroom. This morning ritual usually gave me about twenty minutes! He would usually light a cigarette and read the paper as he sat there. The bathroom window was within view of the back yard.

What if he sees me hurl the bike over the fence?

So I devised my plan.

First, I would need a Polaroid® camera.

I got to work. I walked passed my mother and told her I was going to help dad get the junk pile ready to load. I snuck into her desk area where she kept the instant camera, snatched it and went outside.

I walked around to my Dad’s bathroom window and began taking snap shots of him on the toilet through the window. He immediately closed the curtain and began to yell at me. Now, I had successfully blocked his view of the fence from the bathroom.

As I came through, the front door my mother immediately confiscated the camera and told me to get to work. I sheepishly grinned and got to work on the second half of my plan.

I had taken three pictures that were starting to develop. I taped one to my bedroom door, one to my Dad’s bedroom door, and one to the sliding glass door leading outside. All three places my Dad would have to pass to get outside to the fence area where I planned to ditch the bike. As he passed I’m sure he would start a commotion that would let me know how close he was to the back fence.

Upon hearing the first shout from his bedroom, I had managed to get the bike to the back fence.

The second shout came as he approached my room where he found picture #2 of himself upon the throne!

This is where the snag in my plan occurred. The bike got stuck as on top of the fence, perched upright as if to ride along the top boards, the pedals still drip-stained with paint, wedging perfectly between the planks. I had only a minute before he was to find it!

I.E. I had a minute before I was “dead”.

Then it came to me. Like a light bulb over my head, a brilliantly mischievous deceptive idea, innate to every young boy.

I ran back to the junk pile and grabbed an old red spray can and painted on the fence.

“Tigers Suck…Red Sox Rule!”

I could hear my dad yell as he approached the glass door!

I tossed the spray can over the fence just as he turned the corner.

What the hell is going on?

Then he noticed the bike. What is this? Those rotten kids, he exclaimed!

Forgetting about the three Polaroid’s in his hand for a minute.

Then I chimed in with a straight faced lie, “Dad I had brought Mom’s camera out to take pictures of what the Red Sox had done to my lost bike, the camera didn’t work in the sunlight…so I took some pictures through your window to see if it would work. Then, I realized those were the last three pictures in the roll.

By the time, the pictures developed, I saw that you were in the bathroom, so I taped them to the doors to lead you here!”

Still dumbfounded and a bit unnerved, my dad called for my Mom and told me to start loading up the truck to haul the trash.

As I moved things into the truck, I could hear my Dad telling my Mom. This makes me so mad. How could those neighbor kids be so mean?

After the dump run, my dad took me to buy a new Schwinn® ten-speed, a new pair of cleats, and a new baseball bat. I was speechless. There was no way on Earth I was going to tell him that it was me who vandalized my own bike.

That next year, the Tigers made the playoffs and finally beat our Red Sox rivals.

I eventually told him the truth…long after I was grown.

He just shook his head from ear to ear.

admin Blog This!

Published by Reggae Festival E-Guide 5/3/06

This new age of information and technology has certainly connected humans from around the globe. Ever since the invention of the telephone, technology and human communication have been inseparable. For better or worse, the marriage of communication and technology through the airwaves and wired worlds are here to stay. The fact is the internet, satellite radio, and HD frequencies will guarantee that free speech will remain in tact and continue to grow. Unfortunately, the sad part is we are losing our manners!

It seems that people find it easier to be rude to each other when we are not in the presence of each other. Have you ever had someone write you a nasty email or hang up on you while on the phone? I have.

Everyone has dealt with someone like this at sometime. Surely, it’s not the end of the world when someone is obnoxious when responding to us, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if we simply considered all communication to be personal? When we pray, we communicate to a force we cannot see, yet we are pleasant. Even in our angered petitions, we usually remain humble. In the scriptures, we are told that how we treat the least of those around us reveals our true heart toward our creator. The way we treat each other matters.

This week I took two preteen girls to an open market area to shop. One was my daughter Hannah , the other her friend Emily. As we sought to buy a pair of sandals, we passed a young man who was obviously traveling and without shelter. He held a sign that read, “Homeless, anything you can give will help”. Upon passing the young man, Emily said aloud, “I think I’m going to give that man my money instead of buying sandals.” And then she did. Later on the way home, I asked her why she did that. She responded by telling us that her teacher, Mrs. Pedigrew had shown the class a movie called, “Pay it Forward”. A movie about the karmic rewards of practicing random acts of kindness. Emily then finished her response by saying that she did this because she thought it would be better to act upon this belief than to just do nothing. Wow! Thank you Jah, for children and teachers like these. May we learn from their example. May we consider those around us to be worthy of our best intentions.

As we become aware of needs and issues, we are not to judge, we are to act. In the weeks following we will be focusing our prayers and attention on the crisis in Darfur. We have to face the facts that atrocities such as genocide and rape are taking place in Sudan. So far, 250,000 people have died.

admin Published Articles, Short Stories reggaefestivaleguide.com

Cyril Neville: With a Funky mix of supreme sound coming from his current band “TRIBE 13”, you’d think the gumbo had spilled into the chili.

The Power of the drummer is immeasurable. The beating of the drum in its various forms has the influence to move our emotions and focus our will. It is well documented that in many cultures throughout human history, the drum signaled to the clan a time of sacred unions, worship, feasting, and war.  Is it the beating of our own heart that drives us to the manifestations of our fist and feet to resonate these emotions with such rhythmic proportions?  Whether you speak of a single clap made with our hands, or a sacred shaman calling the tribe to union before the Creator, it is the vibration of the drum that brings blind, deaf, and hearing to gather in one accord.

Djembe drummer Tango (one name like Madonna, he laughs) from Koreduga Village, Mali would add, “Drumming is sacred, traditional, and spontaneous.  The shape of the wood and the carvings inside along with the skin used makes a wide range of high and low tones. The roundness of the drum and the length of the tube of the body resonate in a way that makes a deep bass note. Then we slap the skins until we achieve an accumulation of sound from all spectrums.

“Just don’t talk yourself out of it”, that’s the answer I received from Blues musician Tab Benoit, when I asked him how he keeps the beat going. I watched Tab play drums in a jam session one night until around five A.M. on a night between performances. There were about forty people gathered in a dimly lit lounge. Guitarists had come and gone, and Tab was just getting started as he led the jam.

Norman Caesar of Tribe 13, was singing some off the cuff version of “We got the funk”, but inserting a lazier rhythmic edge to it. “We got the Bluesss, WE got tha’ Bluessseh”.  It was really amazing, spontaneous and vibrant. On the organ was a scrappy punk rock looking kid with a ponytail underneath a backwards baseball cap. I figured him for a roadie.  Lorenzo Jackson was on bass.  Tab began to make some subtle head nods of instruction to the young organ player, he then looked over to Jimmy Dreams on guitar and then it all broke loose!  For two hours straight I watched them play; furious and funky, fusions of Jazz and Blues… free of three minute “white picket fence” chorus lines and American Idol idolatry.

What happened next was amazing… Tab began playing some of the freshest beats and setting the substrate for a spontaneous soundtrack of urban hip-hop lounge beats that I’ve only heard by Dee Jays on computers.  It was live, honest, and unprompted.  From Ambient beats to Zydeco hell raisin’, the intensity of pace held my attention until I was one of only a handful of observers left early in the morning.

Who was this kid on the keyboard? I had certainly never heard of him? He kept time with Tab like a Casio® on steroids through a maze of rhythms that would have made Jay-Z want to retire for real this time. The bass player had gone to bed, so the “roadie” began playing both bass and organ notes on the keyboard simultaneously like he was an octopus.

I ask my friend Big James if he’s seen him before. He tells me, “He’s a dish washer, a back up to the lounge -piano player at the bar.” I couldn’t believe it… this kid played Motown like an inspired marionette with hints of Ray Charles and Stevie’s wonder at his fingertips.

I don’t think they we’re “thinkin’ about it”. That’s just where the beat took them. As percussionist Eddie Christmas, would put it, “That’s Tab! He’s a trip” He would know, he and bassist Carl Dufrene have been playing gigs with Tab for long enough to see his talent with the sticks in his hands.

I asked Tab about the aspect of drumming; he jokes as he sits with a glass of Courvoisier.

” If it was up to me, I’d just beat on the drum all day.” We simultaneously break into a grittier laughter-filled version of the song, “I don’t wanna work… I just wanna bang on the drum all day!”

Truthfully, coming from Tab, it’s ironic and funny. He is one of the hardest working people I’ve met yet. Tab is a common man doing uncommon things. As President of Voice of the Wetlands (V.O.W), he has been able to testify before congress about the declining state of the Louisiana Wetlands. He has gathered a loyal group of all-star musicians to champion this ecological crisis including legends Cyril Neville, Big Chief Monk, Boudreaux, Waylon Thibodeaux, George Porter Jr., and Dr. John. Add Jumpin’ Johnny Sansone on the mouth harp or accordion, and you’ve got some zydeco that is incredible to watch and hear.

Thirty years of success behind the skilled drumming of Cyril Neville, has taught him a lot. Never far from his heart, are the four hundred thousand people who’ve been displaced since Hurricane Katrina. Humbly he says, “I play for them.” With a Funkified mix of supreme sound coming from his current band TRIBE 13, you’d think the gumbo had spilled into the chili. Cyril’s wife Gaynielle,  has the voice of an exuberant  Queen. With Screamin’ Norman on keyboards playing like he’s got twenty fingers, and Jimmy Dreams on guitar, the constellations are the limit for this band. These Jams get you off your feet. As Tribe’ drummer Ricky Caesar would add, “There’s nothing like it; when you see people moving to the groove you’re creating, it’s one of the best feelings in the world!”

Of course, not everyone likes the unpredictable fury of the jam.  One of the nicest people you’d ever meet is a drummer named John Mc Teague, a tall lanky laid back fellow with an ear for easy listening world beat blues. When you listen to him play, it’s like a wind up kind of thing. It starts off sort of easy going - then by the end of the set  you feel like you’ve been on a journey.  John would say, “Performing with Cuban Blues singer Raul Malo has allowed me to develop a patient style. We like to ease our fans into our sound. ” A great sound it is too.

I asked John Finn, of the well rounded Rock band Calluseyed, why he started playing the skins. His response was that he used to be the kind of kid that smashed all his Hotwheels®, so it seemed to be a reasonable choice.  “It has helped me a lot to be rambunctious, whether covering The Ramones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, or the Rolling Stones.” John says.  Catch Calluseyed if you can, they have a great vibe all they’re own.

As I conclude this article, I would like to focus on a percussionist that really understands the connection between the heart and the drum! He is a gifted healer and percussionist who has been banging away at his craft since age twelve. I first discovered the unique and imaginative, Michael Bayard from a YouTube video called “Spin Cycle” - a drumming improvisation. It is some of his funnier stuff and if your watching carefully you may catch him “mess up”, but even then he’ll miraculously keep precision timing.

At eighteen years old he was admitted to the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. He performed under the batons of Eugene Ormandy, Leonard Bernstein, and Riccardo Muti to name a few. After graduation Bayard moved westward to Sacramento, California where he was appointed to the position of principal percussionist with the Sacramento Symphony, a post he kept from 1980-1997.

He has written some deeply compelling compositions exploring the depths of human emotion and existence. His work has explored the spiritual, as well as the ethereal aspects of drumming. In one of his videos, Michael Bayard places quartz crystal song bowl on a female subject’s heart chakra, and activates the song bowl.  It is inspiring to hear the tones and resonance of a woman’s heartbeat.  It reminds us that inside everyone of us resides the power to create rhythmic magic.

One of Michael’s gifts to the world is working with youth; his lectures on music are shared from a global perspective. He teaches by example-without preaching. Through music, he believes anyone can develop skills to express themselves in a positive way. His percussion style is more of a journey than a destination. Check out his “Drums Not Drugs” program and you will see that there is much to be discovered behind this drum kit. (www.rhythmmagic.com)

From Classical to Jazz, Motown to the Blues no one doubts the power of the drummer. The rhythmic pounding of the drum makes steady the path of the listener. It brings illumination to those gathered to experience it. That’s what it’s all about. Drumming brings us to a place that we can feel.

admin Blog This!

Published by Reggae Festival E-Guide 9/21/06

It was around 9:30 at night in the hospital where I work. I had finished my last rounds and my patients were all quiet. I had a headache so I went to the lounge to rest, but it was filled with loud gossiping nurses. I was exhausted from carrying a heavy patient workload at the hospital and from a weekend of rough-housing with my friends. So I went up to the seventh floor waiting room to kick back and rest.

When the elevator door opened I was pleased to see that it was quiet there. Only the sound of the rain, the television and a homeless man snoring could possibly interrupt my break. I looked out the rain soaked sliding glass door to the left of the TV, and noticed the lights of the city. I thought to myself, “when this shift started it was dark outside and it will be dark when I leave”. I sat down and tried to find a comfortable position in an uncomfortable chair. As I rustled around using newspapers as a pillow to brace my tired head against the wall, I was sure I’d finally found my moment of peace and quiet. My eyes had been closed for about a minute and I had finally blocked out the fluorescent lighting that had intensified my headache. My ears were ringing from a day of continuous alarms and pagers, but I had successfully drowned out the sound of the documentary on the public access channel and was just beginning to hear my own breathing.

Suddenly, I heard a low grumbling voice, “Do you believe this? Do you believe this?” I pulled the good housekeeping magazine off of my face to see who was speaking. As my eyes began to focus on the man who was speaking, I noticed an unforgettable ear to ear smile. He spoke again, “I’m sorry to have woke ya up!” “No problem”, I replied as I frantically looked for the clock to see how long I’d been asleep. To my surprise, it had only been about an hour. Rubbing my eyes, I started to focus on the man who had awakened me. “Do you believe this?” he said again as he was staring at the TV. Then I stretched my aching, stiff neck and sat up in my chair to get a better look. It was a documentary based on a conspiracy theory about the U.S.A. moon landing being a lie. I watched it with him as it ended. I turned to him and replied, “Well, you can’t believe everything you see!” His eyes lit up and his grin widened as if he’d found an ally. He immediately outstretched his long arm across the coffee table, his hand unfolding out of his overcoat like an old wooden expansion bridge. “I’m Elmo Henderson. Nice to meet ‘cha. My friends call me ‘TEX’. Tex Henderson, on account of me being from Texas.”

After shaking his hand and introducing myself, he asked me why I was moving about so slow? I told him I had been backyard boxing with my friends over the weekend. He laughed and then asked, “Is that right?”… a question I later heard often when speaking with Elmo. After explaining to him that backyard boxing is a non-violent way to entertain drunk friends, he asked if he could share a story with me. Curious to hear what he was about to say, I listened as intently as he had. He sat upright in his chair, placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. He looked around as if he was sharing top secret information, then exclaimed, “I was once a professional boxer and I beat Ali!” “Muhammad Ali?”, I interrupted. “Why yes!” he said as he smiled like the Cheshire cat. I won’t tell you that I believed him immediately, but he caught my attention.

He went on to tell me his life story, including the little known historical fact that he once fought Muhammad Ali and beat him. He spoke of his relationships, his faults, and of course, his accomplishments. I found Elmo “Tex” Henderson to be one of the most engaging and authentic men I had ever met.

As I got up to answer my pager, he stood up and shook my hand. I told him it was a privilege to meet him. He replied, “Son, the privilege was all mine. Here, we found ourselves engaged in a wonderful conversation. We were kept dry and warm. We had an interesting television program to watch and a top story view overlooking the lights of the city. In many ways we had the best seat in the house.” It was this grateful attitude that best represented Elmo Henderson to me. He made such an impression on me. In upcoming articles I will share his story with you and I hope it will inspire you as well. I truly had the best seat in the house.

After this encounter with Elmo. I did some detective work and found out all of what Elmo was saying was true. In fact, were it not for trouble with the law in Texas midway through his career; who knows maybe TEX Henderson would be better known.  Elmo was a sparring partner for George Forman during his years fighting Ali. TEX would say, “I had to act like I was whoever George was fighting, adapt my style to emulate theirs. Ali was so bold that after a weigh in, he was jawing something crazy to George. He’d heard enough, so George told Ali, “My sparring partner Tex could knock you out in three rounds!”  So Ali and I fought. I said and what happened next.

Well I knocked him out in the third round. When you ask Elmo who is the greatest fighter of all time? His response is clear and without hesitation. “That would be me, the greatest fighter of all time is, ME…cause I beat Ali!” That’s why I love Elmo Henderson. I would expect nothing less than this answer! He always paints the world with a positive twist! His official record:

Elmo Tex Henderson
Heavyweight
27 (16) - 18 (10) - 1
1954-1979
San Antonio, Texas, United States

admin Published Articles, Short Stories reggaefestivaleguide.com

Alice Stuart and her band Snake were playing shows nightly in the early 70’s, but she found it difficult to balance the rock ‘n roll lifestyle with raising children. In a 1975 Rolling Stone® feature called “Guitars of the stars”, she was mentioned along with Chet Atkins, Mike Bloomfield, David Bromberg, Jose Feliciano, Bonnie Raitt and Doc Watson as premier guitar players to watch. Then she disappeared.

She took time off to raise her children.  She says, “You only get once chance to raise them!  I could play music every night; but at the end of the day, motherhood had to come first.”

Alice has been covering the landscape of blues, folk, acoustic guitar since 1964. They say without Alice Stuart there would be no Bonnie Raitt. She performed with Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention. She toured with Van Morrison in Europe.  All the way from Chilean Washington apple country in 1961- playing folk music, influenced by blues, hootenanny, Americana, Delta, and country blues with early influences including Cree Indian Patrick Sky.

Alice Stuart pioneered a style of guitar that opened the door that many women have followed through.  She plugged in electrically shortly after Dylan. She is the First Lady of acoustic and electric blues. Without her influence and courage to pick up a guitar and play, the music we hear today may sound a bit different. Who knows if there would be a Joan Jett, Melissa Etheridge, or Chrissie Hynde?

She would remark, “In today’s music industry if you don’t look like Taylor Swift and sound like everyone else, it’s hard to get heard.”

Often times if a record company can’t keep the selling CD’s year after year, they discard you. It is not so with the blues, most musicians don’t settle into their own sound and gauge their own abilities properly until later in life. When Alice and her current band, The Formerlys perform it is effortless, original, and free. Her smooth, angelic voice is now sultry and laced with wisdom and grace .The stories in her music make you want to hear the next line. While her style may not be for everyone, it is uniquely her own.

Nearing her seventh decade, Alice is getting her stride. Who knows? She just may be having her cake and eating it too. She shows no signs of slowing down. This full time woman would be a great part of any festival.  She is like a fine wine, just getting better with time.  She is still a very feisty woman. She is determined, driven, and doesn’t take anyone’s crap. She is straight forward, has a sense of self that is undeniably Alice! She is also humble and easy to get along with, yet didn’t hesitate to say of some of her peers, they can barely tune their own guitars. If you want the truth straight, go ask Alice. Alice is an American original who never sold out!

When I listen to Alice’s music, I think she has made a seamless connection between who she was as a spark of American folk and Blues and who she is now. She is an effortless guitar player, who is a national treasure. Alice may be a bit of a shrinking violet, but she remains an American legend and a huge talent.

I was able to catch Alice and the Formerlys in Northern California.  She was well received by her Mill Valley audience. Playing the music that has spanned her career and sounding ever relevant. The songs she sings are honest and direct. Her voice is gracile. She puts heart behind every note.

The Formerlys are made up of bunch of “formerly famous musicians”, as they would proclaim with fervor. I was able to sit like a fly on the wall as Marc Willett (bassist) and Pat Tennis (guitar) talked shop. They all three passed ideas back and forth through harmonious code. I was impressed by their passion and knowledge of the music. Alice sat there compact on the floor hugging her knees. She’d pop in with a perfectly timed “like this” or “like that”. Usually, it’d be followed by an assuring nod from the boys. They have great chemistry on and off stage.

Currently, she is working on her solo acoustic recordings due for release this year. I’m looking forward to hearing what Alice creates next.

While making wonderful music, Alice has managed to raise her son and daughter who are successful in their own right. They are her heart.  Her son is a master craftsmen and her daughter earned her Degree at UC Santa Cruz. After an aptitude test discovered Alice was fit to study music, she earned a degree in music. Alice is a great example of perseverance and dedication, ultimately preserving her integrity along the way.

http://www.alicestuart.com

admin Published Articles

Greetings!

My hope is that everyone is well. I am well, despite my wife fighting the flu. This winter I have kept busy balancing my three teenagers and full time job at the hospital. I have also been working overtime, so my time has been short for writing. My prayers have been with those suffering in Kosovo and Tibet. During the last quarter of this year so many of the daily headlines have left me speechless. Therefore, I have spent a lot of time pondering. My thoughts become conversations in my head. Conversations that lead to debates than only subside when I reach the inner courtroom of silence. The inner sanctuary, where darkness is blessed by light. With so much double talk in the media, it becomes increasingly necessary to find the time to contemplate the world in we live in. The culmination of absurd information we digest through our eyes and consciousness of our being all seek to sculpt our reality. With so many prognosticators, spin doctors, and perception shapers continually spewing new reality onto age old quandaries, it would seem that Babylon is in full effect. Confusion reigns the airwaves! Therefore, we must use what Jah has given us and THINK!
How ’bout this headline from AP Feb. 2008, “Icelandic Singer-songwriter Bjork banned from China”, “Chinese government demands apology!” Recently, she said said two words at the end of a concert she performed in Shanghai, two words that were apparently so obnoxious and hurtful that they warranted an apology.
The two words, you ask? TIBET, TIBET! Now, if you have ever examined the human rights violations of China, it reads like a how-to book on torture. How could they ever claim indecency while they themselves sponsor torture and killings of Tibetan Monks? Our government here in America subsidizes company’s like Walmart who purchase large amounts of consumer goods from China. If you have not heard Bjork’s song “Declare Independence” from her latest work “Volta”, I urge you to purchase it. Björk dedicated her set-closing song “Declare Independence” to independent Kosovo, which did unilaterally declare independence from Serbia a few days earlier on 17, February 2008. According to her management, she was subsequently and consequently dropped from July’s Exit Festival, which is held in Serbia, in the city of Novi Sad in the northern province of Vojvodina, a major event that each year draws over 150,000 people, half of them from abroad. Sometimes, the only way for the light of truth to expose the darkness is to “stir it up” as Mr. Marley once sang! Not too bad, for someone who stand less than five feet tall.

Blessings,
James Curt Byrum
Free Tibet: Bjork Declare Independence for Tibe in Shanghai

Jah March 2008 first appeared in ReggaeFestivalEguide.com

admin Blog This!, Published Articles

Published by Reggae Festival E-Guide 7/27/06

Anyone who has ever raised a child or helped knows that it takes a lot of hard work, patience and grace. The challenges of parenthood also produce some of the greatest rewards in life. Recently, I received an email that I wanted to share with you. It impressed me because it is simple, yet profound. This is Bob’s Recipe for a strong family unit:

The following elements will be included in the recipe and blended to create a solid unit:

1) Knowing who you are.

2) Understanding and compassion.

3) Love and respect.

4) Express your feelings in a way that doesn’t destroy the people in the family.

5) Have fun and laughter as often as possible.

6) Add your higher power, whatever that would be for you, as support for the family.

7) Love yourselves.

8) Have clear communications among the family members. Let the family members finish their communication without interruption.

9) Be a good listener.

10) Allow a family member to cry if they need to.

11) Look for support people in the community when needed to help the family through trouble periods.

Blend all ingredients to make a strong balanced family unit. Please feel free to add whatever measurements you desire of the above to meet your goals in life.

Who is Bob you ask? Bob Hesseltine is a retired cattlemen and father of two. He is a gentleman and kind-hearted soul. When I asked Bob why he created the recipe he replied, “Families are in turmoil in the World today. There is lot of lack of communication among families due to high stress levels of the parents having to cope with their daily lives. This recipe is a tool to use to lighten up some of the stress that goes on in the family unit.” Thanks Bob for your wonderful insight.

admin Blog This!, Published Articles