Common Man Uncommon Times
There are three of us who came togther quite by accident, Or, was it? I can only hope that anyone who listens to this CD, and buys it, enjoys it as much as we did in putting it togther. Please visit my website at: michaelbrownband.com email: firstname.lastname@example.org From our website: And there we where, in a place in time -- new, yet old -- old, yet new, depending on what time of day it happened to be, or what state of mind the common man was in. The only exception -- the fact that the we were common men of uncommon originality. Those I met that day had previously been down roads that I was only imagining, every so often, now and again, a new story of the past would be revealed; smoke-filled air, a beer here and a song there. Who can define "a song?" We didn't, and therefore it didn't matter that we needed to check a box on a genre, let the box be check around us... Hey Harv, "tell me about being in Hollywood and listening to GP play when you and yours were playing the Whiskey? "Well, it was like..." And then we where back in the present. Seemingly, that is what matters most, despite this or that. We have today...most of the time avoiding whiskey road. In a time where song has become show, and with the flick of a few computer generated modulations, one can be creating wannabe vinyl at cyclic rates; it is about youth, who was where, who they where seen with -- What's the scene? And how many photographers can chase down some celeb and snap a pic in some compromising position, that was intended to be nothing more than a publicity stunt in the first place. I am more interested in how long the strings will last on my guitar, and writing out ideas, collaborating and recording for the sake of the music and the state of mind that it arises within the common man, like me, (we) and taking a moment to say hello to the visitor, all-the-while, knowing that this in itself has made my day. Hey Will," tell me, what guitar are you going to buy next?" News repeats itself over and over, and the thought of independent reason seems to be lost. There is a radio personality who will speak his mind, and a surf guitar legend who has played for more than 50-years, who is the emulation of the mind, body, and spirit. I recently heard him (couldn't help it, and heard his music for two days after)...Says he is like he is because of the fuel he puts in his body, and is the uncommon man that the common Midwesterner would look at, and dream of California as the land of fast cars, surf, women, and beach camp fires...At least that was in the movies -- none are like him, most would want to be like him, I could never be him or like him, yet the wave of music blasting me back to 1958 was well worth the experience. Yet, I can only remain the common man in this uncommon time -- can only write what I write, and can only play what I play. Something must be right -- right? Too many things have become reality, fallen into place, and become all-together, too uncommon. The gathering of we, us, is no accident, no mistake. Jack Moreno and his Rhythm Ramblers brought us together. He's been playing since '53, and that's how I stumbled into the scene, and how Will and Harv stumbled into mine. Have you ever met other common men, and felt like you've known them your whole life? The ups the downs, and whatever the sound of the day that resonates around, has been played somewhere sometime, but not quite this way -- whatever way this way is. A No Barking sign, planes flying overhead, and all the enjoyment of being in Tunaville, is life lived in fullest, yet without one to share these enjoyments with, they become memories internalized, never immortalized, never discussed, except in a few years, months, days, or hours, when one common man meets another in an uncommon time...