Learning the Sound
Mark and I met in the cold, windy city of Frostburg, Maryland, where we were both going to school. We talked of music, drank the devil’s brew, and got to know each other. Turns out, Mark was playing a lot of old blues songs on a beat up acoustic he had. He knew all about the artists, their styles of playing, backgrounds, everything. Mark was kind of like Alan Lomax with a worried mind and a sick sense of humor.
He found out I played harmonica and asked if I wanted to play some tunes with him. Boy, did we. You could say we were making field recordings, but we weren’t recording and besides, we were definitely not the real thing or even close. Actually, there is a cassette tape somewhere, taken from a reel-to-reel recording, of Mark and I playing some blues and paying homage to some wide-mouthed Mickeys.
We copied some of these singers, played their melodies straight and true. It was all about getting inside the song, learning the essence before you thought about improvising. A degree of respect one gives to a song, words and melody a sacred torch. We certainly wanted to keep the flame burning and were honored to be on the path.
After our time at Frostburg, Mark and I were hungry to make more sounds, find new ones. When Mark brought his two cousins, Walt and Chris, into the picture, the journey became more intense, the songs done with purpose.
Freedom Alley was the delivery of the past to the present. These friends who shared a respect for their elders, who walked a path, felt the trouble in their minds, the disquiet in their heart. Freedom is never a given and, from the promise of dreams, there’s always something to sing about.
Follow that Sound
Truth be known, Walt and I were the dreamers in the group. I could reel it in and for the most part stay focused, but Walt had a long tether. With the extra rope, he could venture further out. No matter, when we played a song, we played as one, feeding off each other with easy anticipation. We might key off a run that Mark got on his mandolin or a full-throated vocal from Chris that out and out saved a song from disaster. We were having fun just playing for ourselves.
The four of us spent endless hours playing our music. Walter’s other-worldly approach left us spellbound and dazed, but the rest of us had parts to play, too. Mark was the best organized and always focused, trying his damndest to watch Walt’s fingers, figure out the chords at least. He knew how to structure a song, make it work, and with an ear for melody, was a musical force.
Mark also had the vision for Freedom Alley. More than anyone else, he heard the harmonies for what they truly meant. He understood the original lyrics had tremendous potential and worked harder than anyone to hopefully one day realize a dream.
We’d do songs over and over because with each take, we knew we had more to give. Little by little, each of us brought out the best in ourselves and each other. We listened and followed the sound.