Bayous, skeeters and hurricanes were the main ingredients in the soup of my early years.

Then, it was off to college where bassist Ross Griffin heard me noodling on a classical guitar in my dorm room. His encouragement gave me the confidence to join him and a few we-think-disco-sucks music majors who were forming a rock band. That group, Headwind, still holds a special place in my heart.

The next few years found me performing in numerous rock and pop bands. These were local groups, just a notch or two better than the average garage band.

A blonde Fender Stratocaster served me well in those days. However, big-bodied archtop guitars kept calling to me from the walls of music stores because the darn things were so physically gorgeous. Sirens, I tell ya. Sirens. I began practicing jazz riffs and more complex chords in an effort to feel worthy of one of those beautiful archtops—should I ever be able to afford one.

By the late '80s I had moved to Maryland. One day a driving rainstorm caused me to seek shelter in a conveniently placed guitar store. On the bulletin board was an ad for guitar auditions in a "jazz" band. I got the job and spent the next three-and-a-half years playing smooth jazz in a sextet called First Circle. Although the gigs were steady, one can listen to a poor Jay Beckenstein imitation for only so long before it's time to take a shower. At least I graduated to a really nice Heritage 575 archtop with a natural finish.

In the mid '90s I joined a... ahemm... cough... wedding band to get back on stage and try to keep my chops up. The leader of the band lured me in with promises of, "We're going to hit the studio and make a jazz album." I always fell for that line. It's all about the dream, you know. He later informed me that I didn't really want to make a record, or else I would have done it by now. I realized he was right and left the band that day. As soon as I got home I picked up the phone to book some studio time to record my first solo album, Nude with Guitar.

Soon thereafter, the digital music revolution started. I took to it like a frog to water. HTML looked almost exactly like the typesetting codes I learned a decade earlier, so making web pages to promote my music was a breeze. In the universe of indy online music distribution, I quickly rose to the level of known commodity. I got unsolicited front page features on every indy site of any consequence, including the big kahuna, mp3.com. There, I cashed in on a song placed on an e-card and had a couple of tunes chosen to be pre-loaded on infamous Walmart Lindows computers (chuckling as I type). Another music site even made a Pete Marinovich screen saver with images of my paintings and One for Melinda playing in the background — kind of ridiculous, now that I reflect on it, but flattering nonetheless.

My most noteworthy success from that time was getting the song Benvindo used in a television series in Spain. The show may have been discontinued as there was nothing in my last ASCAP statement, but I get a kick out of knowing a song in which I played Spanish style guitar actually worked in Spain.

The few successes and steady stream of downloads inspired me to produce my next CD, Second Voice. Friend and virtuoso keyboardist, Elliot Levine, helped me out on four of the tunes. From that album, my cover of Mr. Bojangles has done well on Apple iTunes.

Some time passed, and by mid 2003 promoting music online seemed a little too much like driving on ice. I felt the need to separate myself from the hords of bedroom artists associated with the online indy scene and start performing live again. So I began a search for a partner and collaborator. Folk singer Doris Justis answered the call. She also had the patience to allow me to find my voice and add harmony to her gentle soprano. Doris, with her long-established contacts, kept us appearing in public for the next three-and-a-half years. I produced a CD for us, Bright Paintings.

While Doris was content to add my eclectic style to her folk and pop music favorites, I felt an overwhelming need to express myself more through original music. With my free time being limited, I chose to end the duo in 2007.

Now, musically, I am more comfortable in my own skin than ever before. It feels wonderful, actually. I no longer feel the need to sell myself to anyone. I simply play for the joy of it when the mood strikes, and I don't really care who's listening. You know, I'll be 50 in a couple of months and not much to look at... except for my humongously beautiful, one-of-a-kind, hand made archtop affectionately dubbed "Faith."

8-26-2007