I have a tendency, often wandering off waiflike through my own personal history while writing. Telling some sad tale in a desperate attempt to recapture the emotional intensity of that moment.
Sun Studio has been called, and rightly so, the Birth Place of Rock and Roll. Numerous legendary artists have cut there teeth right here. I'll name a few: Elvis, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison and Jerry Lee, along with R&B greats like BB King, Junior Parker and James Cotton.
You can find any amount of information on any given subject on the web, so I try to not just regurgitate the facts, and if you need directions? Used Google maps.
I like smart people, and people who will and can read, which are usually one and the same.
I discovered something on this recent trip. I found, despite brief periods of loneliness, I do travel better alone. I get more accomplished, and am more spontaneous (which is fun). I sleep less, eat less (though far from healthy), but drink considerably more, yet not to the point of drunkenness, as I am more cautious.
I fell asleep early, with the thoughts of the next days logistics seesawing in my mind.
I awoke from a particularly interesting dream in which I was looking for a coin, any coin, be it quarter, dime, nickel, or penny that was older than I am. I had never had that thought before in my waking life, and quickly rummaged through the coins setting on the desk.
Satisfied that there were indeed any number of coins remaining that were still older than me, and now unable to return to my slumber, I considered a night cap, but where to go?
The answer, while not simple, was Sun Studio...which is not a bar, and is not open at 12:30am.
I swung by a local gas station and picked up a six of Miller High Life (my beer of choice while in the south) and preceded to Sun.
Now, this ain't my first rodeo. I've been to Memphis numerous times, having grown up just three hours away.
Back in my college days, if a fella happened to wanna charm a particular young lady? He might invite her for a weekend in Memphis. Stay at the Peabody, watch the ducks, eat at Rendezvous, hit up Graceland and let Elvis air up the tires, so he could ride the bike.
But if, perchance, she was a true music connoisseur, then Sun was just oiling the chain...so to speak.
I had planned to pull up beside Sun, pop-a-top, smoke one...and reminisce, but what I got was so much more.
Music emanated from the studio attached, and as I smoked, shot video, drank, the music died. A door cracked open and out came Carlos.
Now, generally, I've though he looked like a homeless dude, though well matching in gloves and a properly placed beanie.
"Hey man...whatcha doin?"
"Just kickin it, with a smoke an a brew and the ghosts."
I smiled.
He paused.
I felt the fight-or-flight sensation.
"Tell you what, slip me one o'them brews, an sticks, and you can come'on in."
I nodded.
"I'm Carlos," holding out his hand.
One thing I know, when a jazz/blues/rock-n-roll man holds out his hand, you make it sing, and as or hands met? I made it pop!
"Wooo," he said eyeing his gloved hand. "You mean business!"
And, indeed,I do.
Proust said, "Work while you still have the light." I have been a poor caretaker of my talents.
Waiflike I's says.
Aloha :) read more