This was Buchanan School in 1990 and then again in 2019.
I mean my God, look at my hair. It was like an airbag had been unexpectedly deployed. I swear I believe the ghost of my hair is what possessed that Kudzu vine that ultimately overtook Buchanan school. It was like the Lonesome Death of Jordy Verill in Creepshow.
There we were. Me and RC waiting for the school bus to take us to a basketball game in some neighboring county. No cell phones, no laptops just our ever so charming junior high personalities with lots of time on our hands. When this photo was taken, I was completely obsessed with playing my guitar. That’s all I could think about when I was away from it.
My mama’s good friend, Kenny Simmons, an amazing musician (gone too soon, RIP) let me borrow his Gibson Les Paul and an old 60’s Vox amplifier on a chrome roller stand. It was beyond overkill for a 7th grader, but it’s not like we had any neighbors!! Rocking out on that guitar and that amp made me feel a rush I had never felt in my life!! I was officially addicted!
In the old farm house where we lived on Cowpath Road, I’d crank that amp and hide away in my room for hours learning Led Zeppelin and Mötley Crüe songs. Sometimes randomly while playing through that old amp, I’d get a high voltage shock running from the guitar strings through my fingers and it would give me a huge jolt! I wasn’t sure if it was improper electrical grounding in that old house or if it was the guitar spirits guiding my hands.
I used to have this rad guitar teacher Stephen Grimstead who had the most eclectic house I’d ever visited. It was jam packed full of records, analog recording equipment, guitars, bass guitars, cassette tapes, amps, books, concert posters, magazines. It smelled like one of those head shops where you buy tie-dye wall hangings, glass pipes, and cheeky stickers for your guitar cases.
He ultimately became a music writer for the Memphis Flyer. I tried to find him years later online, but discovered he had passed away as well. It’s very surreal looking back on these times that shaped me musically. I try to make sense of it all, but time truly is an illusion.
