“There are two types of folk music: quiet folk music and loud folk music. I play both.”
- Dave Alvin
I've told some of this before, but here goes: Back in 2018, Kendra and I were in Ireland roaming around the country, taking in all its charms. We got wind that a favorite Texas singer/songwriter, Sam Baker, was playing a show in a place north of Dublin. It was a must attend for us. We drove to the small village of Naul and bought our tickets at the Seamus Ennis Arts Center. We went into the venue, a shotgun style structure that probably seated a hundred, and nabbed some seats near the stage. Sitting in front of us were a couple of fellows, one of which had on a Sun Studio t-shirt. Because of that, we mentioned to them that we were from Memphis. Well, that began quite a rich conversation with the two Irishmen. It turned out that they had been to the U.S. several times on what would be called musical pilgrimages. Someone more passionate about American blues and rock and roll, its history and sacred sites you'd never find. It was clear that they knew 99.9% more on the topic than almost any American. They asked me something about the musician, Dave Alvin, did I know him, they wondered. I said I did but only vaguely. I knew he was at one time a member of the L.A. punk outfit, X, but beyond that, no. They were on fire about Dave Alvin. You gotta check him out, they insisted. I said I would, and I did. I came home and dug into Dave Alvin's catalog and all his various roots-rocker projects. What a resume. I became a fan.
Okay, jump ahead eight years to this past Friday. I was at the studio and Studio Jeff and I were just getting started on a new song I'd brought in, a children's song for a new great-nephew of ours. We were talking over what we wanted to do with it when there came a knock at the door. Jeff saw who it was through the glass and said, “Oh, that's Joe.”
Now, I must digress. If lunch is called for when I'm in the studio, I sometimes go around the corner to a place called Big Mama's on Commercial Street and grab some sandwiches (get the Juliette). An amiable fellow was often working the front. I learned from Studio Jeff that his name was Joe. Joe, he said, was a insanely good keyboard player. Good to know. But over the last few month's Joe had not been there and Jeff said he had quit that gig.
Back to this past Friday. Joe comes in the studio. He said he was just in the neighborhood and thought he'd say hi. Jeff introduces us and I mention that I know him from Big Mama's. Jeff tells him we were just getting started on a song that could probably use some keys, did he want to stick around? Sure, he said. We get to talking. I tell him Kendra and I are fairly recently back up this way, having been living in Memphis for years. He said in passing that “they” had played there occasionally but he couldn't remember where. I asked him what kind of music “they' played. "Mainly rock and roll and blues stuff." Eventually, I asked him what band or bands he was in when “they” came through Memphis?
He said, “I was with Dave Alvin for about ten years, if you know him.” Indeed I did, I told him, and shared the Ireland story. Like all of the major musical talents I've had the pleasure of meeting, he seemed egoless and that it was no big deal. It was starting to be kind of a big deal to me; Dave Alvin, Grammy winner and recipient of The American Music Association's Lifetime Achievement Award, his longtime keyboard player was going to play on my little children's song.
Joe made two passes through on the tune and totally nailed the part, as you'd imagine, and then he was out the door, smiling and refusing any compensation, saying it was a pleasure and he enjoyed doing it. What a completely talented and gracious fellow.
Later I learned that he was also in the legendary Springfield band of the late 70s and 80s, The Skeletons. As it was written in one publication, “The Skeletons may well be America's coolest band.” We'll talk about them another time.
From Ireland to Springfield, it's a small world.