In music as in life the greats never die, they resurrect in new form. I have asked where is our Cash, where is our Ray, Our soundtrack to our inner voice, our reason to drop our voice two octaves while singing along because it helps to wake that resting soul?
Then it appeared. From within a chin-deep search starting from the docking point of Tom Waits’ ‘Chocolate Jesus’ and wading thru the depths of Pandora’s Box (Pandora.com). A voice pulled me from my unconscious drifting, skipped past my eardrums and yelled into my blood. It shared a message that someone else has shared my path at times, some of it has been hard but all of it has been worth it.
Without a minute passing from when I learned it was William Elliott Whitmore who supplied this fountain of truth, I began ripping songs from their internet existence and steeped my ears in the sound.
I took a little nibble of his 2006 album ‘Songs of The Blackbird,’ as the first song ‘Dry’ began, I could feel the cold point pierce my cheek. By the third song ‘One Man’s Sham,’ the song that started this frenzy I was already flapping against the deck gasping for air. The downloading of other albums quickly followed with much of the same response.
After two months of continuous enjoyment of this man’s art I knew it was time to pay him for his work. I went to his MySpace page and bought all of his available albums and a T-shirt. Two weeks later a hand-addressed envelope with a handwritten note from Kellie Whitmore (his sister) and some black and white photos that William took. Who does that? How awesome!
Now six months deep, CD fused into my car, the artist most played on iTunes eight to one, the addiction is still strong. That old man blues sound echoes in the silence to subdue my boredom. That hard dry twang of his banjo can still rescue a bad day on the drive home. His timeless raspy truth complements the passage of life as it happens.
‘Come for the drinks. Stay for the love.’
~ Kevin Kremler
