From Willie: I grew up in Houston in the smoldering heat, hit the road at 17 and lived in snowy Milwaukee, lonely, lonely Norman, ecstatic New Orleans, and haunted Olean. I live in home bittersweet home New York City now and enjoy singing with my good ol’ Stella and a Pignose. I perform songs I’ve written and songs that have already been written that I like. Spring is on it’s way so I’m going to be trying to squeeze in as many shows and as much busking as I can. Look out for me on weekends at the markets and keep checking back here as I am constantly updating shows and will be recording again soon. You can also “find” me on Facebook, or listen to or buy my albums on Bandcamp.
Catch you later. – Willy
Even through the heat and dust, you can see the tents and Ferris wheel slowly going up in the distance. You press your face to the dirty glass, you can almost hear the noise of the rides, the smell of animals and cotton candy. You dig frantically under your pillow and pull out a few crumpled bills. It’s been six months since you first heard the troubadours, the allure of the barkers and their games faded, displaced by this music, both foreboding and welcoming. Four months since you too saved up enough to buy a battered mandolin from a man with a cart. Will they be back? This music has haunted you, stayed with you, all this time, the beauty and the sadness, the hope of some sort of salvation. Salvation only Adela and Jude can provide, this bittersweet feeling of love and loss, defiance and resignation. Words do fail, only the music matters. Adela and Jude, Adela and Jude, you repeat, like fingers on a rosary, as you run toward the shimmering tents.
Tasty honky tonk, high lonesome wailin, fancy fiddlin, lonesome steelin and sad sad waltzes--no that ain't rain, that’s a tear in my eye.