In Roads #39

#39 In Roads-Music man

A group of guys are sitting around a picnic table picking guitars at the Stump Town Brewery. They keep playing the same song over and over. “I love my porter, I love my ale…” I figure out that maybe they’re writing a song. Suddenly the guys start to leave and I realize I’m losing my chance to talk to them. Camera in hand, I go sprinting after the group, round a corner and there he is, the lead guy, telling a curious onlooker that he is recording an album. He is incredibly tall. “May I take your picture?” I ask.

“Sure,” he strikes a pose as I tell him I heard he is working on new material. He brightens up. “Yes, I’m doing my 5th album. It’s pub songs and today is pub crawl day in a limo as we’re work on it.” He says he’s been working on the album for a year and a half and it should be released in January. “It’s quite expensive to make an album so it takes a while,” he tells me. He’s kind of inching towards the door as if he’s trying to ditch that unwanted crazy-stalker-fan and tells me his friends are waiting. I continue walking with him. He notices my Harley shirt as we make it outside and he asks to see my bike but his friend tells him they’re leaving. I realize I’ve lost my chance to learn about him as he waves goodbye.

“I’m a journalist.” I blurt out in desperation. Suddenly he turns on his heels, ignoring his friends and comes back to tower over me. “Well, are you now? That’s neat. Who do you write for?” I tell him about Thunder Press and the daily blog. “And today you’ve chosen me? Well, I feel honored.” Not wanting to miss his chance for some free publicity, he launches into a list of awards he’s won for his folk, western, country, pop, jazz, and Americana songs. He tells me he’s even had his music used in Hollywood. He goes on to share that he’s an English teacher, a psychologist, and a family therapist who lives in Petaluma. He’s 70 years old. The business card he hands over says he’s an award-winning singer-songwriter. And the two review quotes on the back of his card tell me that Larry Kenneth Potts is a vagabond humorist who is capable of setting my couch on fire. And he’s the real deal. Then he crawls into the limo and is gone.

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