A book arrived in this morning’s mail, from my friend CB. He’s had this kicking around his place for many years and when he saw my oil can banjos, he decided to send it my way. It’s called Musical Instruments made to be played by… Read More
I’ve made a neck blank for the next oil can banjo, but I’ve decided to put that aside for later and instead I’m going to try to make a mountain banjo similar to those described in the FoxFire book, a much different design than either… Read More
Here’s Aubrey Atwater, clogging and playing banjo at the same time. Speaking of folk dancing, if you ever get a chance to see April Verch, the Ottawa Valley fiddler, don’t miss it. Not only is she a great fiddler but she dances up a storm… Read More
Here’s another new painting. This one is a round painting, a tondo if we want to get all Renaissance today. Here is The Source. This painting is oil on panel and it is 2 feet in diameter. This is by no means the first time… Read More
This is a small oil painting – I think it is 12″X9″. This one was kicking around my studio unfinished for a really long time. I left it up on my painting wall but I had stopped working on it ages ago. I thought I… Read More
My dog caught it. Here’s the Walter Family. It says on the info with the video it was recorded in 1933. I’ve read elsewhere it was recorded in 27. It’s a really good tune regardless of when the recording was made. Here’s a hot version… Read More
With a snow storm expected to batter the Plains, Midwest and East Coast this weekend, a spring-deprived Ohio prosecutor is taking out his frustration with the long winter on a famous prognosticating groundhog. “I decided it was about time we indicted Punxsutawney Phil for fraud,”… Read More
At one time I used to do long road trips with my friend East Texas Red. Our destination was the mountain west. We would spell one another off driving across the US getting out to the west as fast as we could. I remember one… Read More
Jack Shadbolt, that’s who I’m talking about Along with his pal/arch enemy Shadow, this one is responsible for turning our house into the Indianapolis Speedway at 5:18 every morning.
My father was full of stories, too many to remember all at once. Some of them I store away until I need them. Then one day some little thing triggers something way back in my memory. I had, for instance, forgotten all about Aub.… Read More
27th Street 