“Listen, don't meet your heroes.”
- James McBride
Growing up as music-crazed teens in the 1970, the only acts we knew of were from far away. The music we heard came from distant places, New York, London, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Georgia, Florida, places we'd never been or couldn't even imagine going.
Then one day, out of the blue, the airwaves started playing one song and then another by a band from OUR state, Missouri. Never mind that they came from as far away from us in the state and still be in the state, they were Missourians. We were flat-landers from the northeast corner; they were from the southwestern hills, but still. They were The Ozark Mountain Daredevils.
It was so exciting to have a band of natives to puff our chests out about. Local boys, as far as we were concerned, made good. We heard them on the radio, we bought their albums. They had actual Top 40 hits, Jackie Blue and an anthem for our restless, rowdy hearts, If You Wanna Get to Heaven (You gotta raise a little hell). The cool thing was, they didn't sound like anyone else. You couldn't compare them to any other band. They were an odd alchemy of styles - Like if you ran Grandpa Jones, The Rolling Stones, The Flying Burrito Brothers and The Moody Blues through a blender, The Daredevils are what would pour out.
They came to our town to play the Pershing Arena at our small college around 1974. Me and my buddies were all there to see the local heroes. They strolled out on stage, a ragged bunch of wood hippies, scraggly in the best way, and delighted an adoring crowd with a great show. It solidified our passion for the fellow Missourians.
After high school, off to the Marine Corps I went. After my stint there, I wound up in college in Springfield, Missouri, home of the Daredevils. This was the early 80s and their fame had waned some and their lineup had changed a bit, but they were still popular and certainly thought of with some reverence around town. I'd spot one or two of them from time to time, “There's so and so. He's one of the Daredevils.”
Then I graduated and moved off to Memphis, TN for work and stayed gone for 35 years. My wife, Kendra and I, decided to retire from the big city in 2021 and return to the slower pace of Springfield where we had family and friends. I'd started making some music myself before leaving Memphis and when we got to Springfield, I began looking for a studio to continue recording in. Boy did I find the right place - Studio 2100, presided over by the hugely talented owner, producer, engineer, musician and all-around good guy, Jeff Smith. I have so much fun there, it's probably against some law.
One day we were working on a song and we both agreed that it could use a harmonica. Neither Jeff nor I were much skilled at that instrument…who to get? Jeff said, “I'll bet Randall would play on it.” Randall Chowning, is one of the founding members of The Ozark Mountain Daredevils and is also a friend of Jeff's. “Let's do it!” I said.
Randall said sure, he'd play, and at the appointed day and time he came in to the studio. I was like a kid who was going to meet a major league baseball player who he'd only seen on the field and marveled at from far off in the stands. An original Daredevil was going to play on one of MY songs.
Randall was courteous, and like the pro he is, played just the right harmonica parts on the song. I told him what a thrill it was to have his help, how sort of surreal it seemed - that the first time I'd ever laid eyes on him was in 1974 at the Pershing Arena in Kirksville. I was right down front on his side of the stage, looking up at him and his Stratocaster.
“Do you remember that show, Randall?” Jeff asked. “Vaguely," he said, “Very vaguely.”
So, I say again, thanks Randall for your help. If you hear a harmonica on one of my songs and it sounds like the person playing it knows what they're doing, that's Randall or my friend John Meyer. If it sounds like somebody threw a cat in a clothes dryer, that's me. Rock on! RP