Here is one of the best guitarists you’ve never heard of deals. I think I’ve already said that about him. Aaaargh there are so many best guitarists out there — THAT YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF.
But this guy is the real deal.
Glenn Phillips is an Atlanta-based musician and was in the Hampton Grease Band in Atlanta, which some swear was better than the Allman Brothers. I was about a generation behind Phillips. Although I never saw him live I do have his album — listen to the one I put on video to the end, and you’ll see some blazing and tasteful guitar.
I do understand from others that Phillips taught and mentored some of the good ones around Atlanta including Bob Elsey of the Swimming Pool Q’s. I’ve said before (mostly) instrumental guitar music is good for certain situations. In other words I have to be in the mood. Joining Phillips on an instrumental guitar record, I’ve got Steve Howe, Chet Atkins, Mark Knopfler, John Fahey the Ventures, the Raybeats, and Paco DeLucia
NOTE: I published a column on AL.com over the weekend which included a parable. I am now publishing the blog version of the parable on My Vinyl Countdown. The story comes out of this notion that whether we are healthy or terminally ill, we are all going to die.
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He not busy being born is busy dying – Bob Dylan ‘It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding.”
A man is at the doctor’s office, hat in hand.
Man: How long I got Doc?
Doctor: 37 years, four months and two days.
Man : Whoa is that an average of lifespans after diagnosis?
Doctor: No average here. That’s how much time you have, I can tell you the exact second if you wish.
Man: No no. What do I do?
Doctor: Live! Live life.
Man: But now that you’ve told me the exact date I can’t stop thinking about it. Should I start making plans? There’s so much more I want to do.
Doctor: Well, you have 37 years four months and two days. Tomorrow at this time there will be one less day.
Man: AAaaargh. I’m dying.
The man ran out of the doctor’s office and into the street screaming.
‘I’m dying, I’m dying.”
A homeless person touched the man’s arm. ‘But you’re living. You’re living.”
The man stopped. He gave the homeless person a $20 bill. He went into a café, picked up a book and turned to a page.
A friend sat down.
Friend: What are you thinking about?
Man: My doctor said I have 37 years, four months and two days left to live
Friend: We are all going to die.
Man: Should I laugh or cry?
Friend: Yes.
The man looked at his friend. He looked down at the page with words by Henry David Thoreau.
He read: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
The man and friend sipped hot coffee. The heat felt good in the bustling café; outside was bone-chilling cold. The man looked again at Thoreau’s words.
“Live your life, do your work, then take your hat,” Thoreau wrote.
The man looked around the table, and underneath.
Man: Where’s my hat?
The man decided he must re-trace his steps. He looked and looked at the cafe, in the streets at the police station. He was driven by the words of a prophet: Nothing’s ever lost on God’s green Earth. She told this to the children. Time passed and he enjoyed life and almost forgot about his hat.
Then one day, five years later, , he spotted the hat on the doctor’s head as the doctor left the office one day.
