It’s been one of those times when the pace of events—both interior and exterior—accelerates almost beyond reckoning. Granted, these days I get much of my news from “The Daily Show,” but still: Inauguration! Republican vote-rigging! Somalia! Egypt! I had a birthday with all the attendant thrill and agony, met a bunch of deadlines, and—big news for me—finished my book revisions and sent manuscripts to the kind people who agreed to read them and consider blurbing. (You’ll be hearing more about these spring releases very soon.)
My blog philosophy is to wait till I have something to say rather than adhering to a preset schedule. Usually I have something to say once a week or so, but I couldn’t rouse myself to add to the tidal wave of words engulfing the blogosphere this month. Mostly my reasons have been personal. I’ve been at that familiar stage for a writer: the writing is done. I think it’s good (and response from early readers suggests that I could be right). But that doesn’t mean everyone else will think so. Once again, I find myself putting forward ideas that are sure to gore someone’s sacred ox. Once again, I have granted myself the freedom to mix categories, cross boundaries, suggest possibilities that not everyone may welcome. I took some heart from Nassim Taleb’s point in Antifragile: Things That Gain From Disorder that writers can be antifragile to criticism: “[I]f you really want people to read a book, tell them it is ‘overrated,'” he writes, “with a sense of outrage.” Of course, I hope everyone loves my new work, but whatever may come, I’m almost ready to say, “Bring it on.”
All this hope, anticipation, and effort is a little decentering, though. As always, my antidote is music. The last few weeks I’ve been listening obsessively to Roy Buchanan, infusing my system with Vitamin G (that’s for guitar), drinking in music’s magical powers to activate body, mind, heart, and soul. So if you’re a little glad to see me back in the blogosphere, thank Roy. I do.
If you don’t know Roy Buchanan’s music, you are in for a rare treat. He was a remarkable guitarist who played music of many genres with the utter conviction and commitment of a consummate artist. Listen to “Wayfaring Pilgrim” as you read a bit about his life. His playing on this song winds itself around my heart, opening it like a gate.
Buchanan came up in a hardscrabble world, the child of agricultural workers who migrated from Arkansas to a small town at the southern end of the San Joaquin Valley. He left home young to chase opportunity in music—played with Johnny Otis’s band at 15—and managed to father seven children with his wife, Judy Owens, despite gigging and touring almost constantly for the better part of three decades.
There are obstacles and advantages to coming up without a normative sense of social status or all that much grasp of the rules. Our early lives were very different—city/country, immigrant/American, Jew/Pentacostal—but that marginality to the American dream is something we shared. Sometimes it makes for a steep climb toward a sense of belonging; but it can also grant a power of self-authorization to borrow anything, to braid any form of beauty into the tapestry you weave of your life. When Buchanan heard Hendrix, he integrated that jagged, polemical sound into his playing and made it his own. Listen to his Hendrix-inspired version of “Hey Joe.” Or a beautifully clean straight-up jazz version of “Misty” that makes your cheeks ache with pleasure. Or this amazing live version of Roy’s original composition, his spiritual manifesto, “The Messiah Will Come Again.” The sheer unbounded beauty and creativity of this music grants me permission: whatever you need, it says, use that.
Buchanan struggled with life and often lost the battle. He got addicted, got clean, got drunk, got clean, and died in a Fairfax, Virginia, jail cell a month before his 49th birthday in 1988, locked up on a charge of public intoxication. (The official ruling was suicide, but some people close to Buchanan dispute that.) The most detailed account of his life—which reads like a “Where’s Waldo?” of popular music, with Buchanan playing the Waldo part—can be found at the Vinyl Records site. It gives a lasting impression of a man of great talent who kept being “discovered” (he taught Robbie Robertson to play well, was offered Brian Jones’ spot in the Rolling Stones in 1969, opened for The Band during his last year on the road) without exactly emerging into recognition.
There is a powerful integrity to Roy’s diverse music—something that transcends genre—which emerges so clearly on what might be called standards. “These Arms of Mine” is associated with the inimitable Otis Redding, but Buchanan’s version with Kanika Kress, a Chicago blues musician whose life was cut even shorter than his, surrounds and cradles you so you don’t want it to stop. Buchanan’s take on Don Gibson’s 1956 anthem “Sweet Dreams” is unparalleled. Listening to these songs reminds me that every generation—every artist—is authorized to renew the legacy inherited from the past, and each renewal propels the work toward the next.
You can find an account of Buchanan’s early life and music in a 1971 PBS special entitled Introducing Roy Buchanan!, hosted by Bill Graham. It’s on YouTube in three parts (scroll down under “About” for links to parts 2 and 3). “I think the lonely thing is kind of born inside of a person,” Roy says in part 1. “That’s what makes him play. Your soul seems to be completely someplace else from other people’s, a lonesome feeling. My dad used to call it the blues.”
I’m feeling much better now, and still listening daily to my Roy Buchanan playlist. If you need one more for the road—there can never be too much of Roy’s music—here’s an epic version of “Soul Dressing,” originally released by Booker T. and The MGs in 1965. Still not enough? Buchanan’s original composition, “Pete’s Blues.”
[…] much music tells this story but I can’t help myself, readers, I have to offer another Roy Buchanan: art, spirit, politics, “Five String […]
Thanks for the article and helpful tips! I am just listening to Roy Buchanan for the first time consciously – though I have heard him, of course, providing the soundtrack for the great final scene of The DEPARTED, the Martin Scorsese classic, without knowing who it was. Thanks to the commentators also – “The first time I saw grown men stand up and scream.” My feelings precisely. Goosebumps. I’m in awe.
Wonderfully written Arlene….such a Roy fan here too, all my friends. We were lucky to live in NYC and catch Roy a number of times at The Bottom Line. He just kinda leaned on a beam, played ridiculously amazing axe, with no effort (he is the reason i hate guitarists who make such over the top facial expressions while playing – Roy played while looking like he was viewing art at a quiet gallery – so calm and in control), only that occasional wry smile to the crowd. I still play his tunes on juke boxes (thank God for these Disc Boxes that give you 1000’s of choices, Roy can now be found and played – and always someone says, “Who’s this?”. I love it. Being a retired NYPD guy, I hate that police brutality could have even remotely played a part in him not being here – I choose to believe it was his troubled mind (so often the reason for tragedy and great blues), that ended his time here. He wouldn’t have died if he was collared in NYC, we likely would have just driven him to his hotel. I like to think he ofter plays in a guitar battles in heaven with Rory Gallagher. Thanks for the article.
Thanks for the wonderful comment, Charley.
I have stumbled across this just about a month now have been positively captivated. The music played in my head, it is haunting, soul food, I love the song written for Music Teacher Ms. Preshure, Misty , The Messiah Will Come again, just all of it, I don’t think he committed suicide either. I will never believe that. With his talent I know he left home early but as I read of these other guitar players they did too, I wouldn’t pull grapes, pick cotton, I would have gotten out too. He did have an older brother and sister that he took up residence with, I completely understand the pentecostal you get a feeling out of that, I have been in black churches too,and you get a feeling out of that when the spirit moves, you probably know all this, I do hope his family is living well, I wonder about that losing this man.
Hello,
I just recently discovered Roy and his amazing music! The way it happened was because i met a homeless man that claims to be his son. Same name. He looks like Roy and is really an amazing person. We at the park he hangs out at have gotten to know him and he is special. I wish i knew the musicians kids names to see if this is in fact a son. Can’t find any information as to the names of the children he had with Judy Owens. If you or anyone has this info it would be nice to know this. Thanks!
Hi, Sue. This is the only reference I found: “Roy and Judy Buchanan actually had six children (not seven); Donald, David, Kim, Lauressa, Patricia, and Jenny” (none of them is named Roy, it seems). http://www.tdpri.com/threads/roy-buchanan-american-axe-corrections-by-mark-opsasnick.11195/
Roy’s son Donald goes by the name Roy.
Went to higher school with his son David. Said roy his dad was a pos
David was definitely one of his sons. South lakes high school in reston with hi. Inn 88 when his dad was murdered
I met Roy in mid 1966 at the Rabbit’s Foot club, upper Georgetown, DC…he opened with 20/75, an instrumental by the great Willie Mitchell…and it was the first time I saw grown adults stand up and scream…it was amazing. I was only 19 but met him during the first break and asked questions about his “sound”…he was, to me, gracious, patient and even offered to let he hold his Telecaster. I ended up following him all around DC, VA and MD for many years until I moved to CA in 1983…when I read of his death I was surprised, astounded, sad and a little bit afraid.
He was a uniquely gifted man and a true master of the Telecaster.
Larry
Hello Arlene
Yes , beautiful and marvelous words for Roy .for all of us Who love him ,we know about his music is feeding our soul .
In france ,we are saying : eyes are mirrors of soul .look thèse eyes ,all is inside and inside his music .
Hello Arlene,
Thanks for the remembrance of Roy. I saw him at The Bayou in Georgetown March 17, 1985. One of the things I remember is he would drink from a glass while playing and never miss a note. It was sad to lose him that way and also Danny Gatton. The DC music scene has never been the same without them.