Drifting Outskirts Blues

We've had four days of rain now. The creek in the park is up and the ground is saturated. I'm going out in the drizzle after I write this to buy licenses and pay wheel tax fees on both our vehicles (yeah, that $150 hit comes right at Christmas too). And my old computer is still killing me with blue screens, and I can't make up my mind about which new computer to buy.

I know there are people with a lot worse problems, and I'm not saying this is in any way as bad as that, but, it is my problem right now. I'm at a fork in the road.

One road leads to Mac-ville. It's a very, very expensive road to travel on, but according to reports is a clear, simple journey that can be made without difficulty. If you want to pay the high toll upfront.

Another road leads down Windows lane. I've been on this road all along, so I am familiar with it. It's relatively cheap to travel on (especially in comparison to the Mac-ville road) but sometimes there are breakdowns. It's a soft enough road, micro-soft some say, but the twists and turns and mapping problems can give you headaches.

Right now I can't make up my mind. Undecided, washing this wishy and wishing that washy if you get my drift, and I am drifting. Floundering. I'm on the outskirts, so to speak. Can't seem to make it into town.

Which reminded me of this song I heard last night in a great "little" movie (practically unwatched, according to IMDB) called "Around the Bend," starring Josh Lucas, Michael Caine, and Christopher Walken. It's an emotional drama about fathers and sons. Right now it's on Starz On Demand on our Comcast cable setup; check it out sometime if you get the chance.

Anyway, this song "Carmelita" played in the movie. It's by Warren Zevon and the singer I heard in the movie was male, but I don't think it was Zevon.

Linda Rondstadt sang it back in the 70s and Dwight Yoakum has a version too. He wasn't singing it in the movie but I'm using his version here.

I'm not on heroin like the speaker and never have been, but I do think I'm hearing Mariachi music on my computer.

(On a side note: I'm not much liking the new youtube format. You can't seem to escape the ads.)

The Computer Gods Toy with Us

After all those blue screens for several days, the computer mysteriously gave me a whole day yesterday of clear and clean surfing. This morning, five minutes in, the screen went blue again. I'm pretty sure my hard drive's gone soft. (Insert age appropriate smart ass remark here.)

I can imagine the scene on Computer Olympus. The king of the computer gods, Microsoftus says to his wife Googleus, "Why don't we mess with his mind a little. Give him one more day and he'll think everything is cleared up.Then we kill everything the next day. That'll be fun. Especially since it's Christmas."

Guess I'll have to spring for a new one tomorrow. Sigh.

Blue Screen Blues

For the past few days I've been getting quite a few blue screens on my 5 year old Gateway desktop each day. They started a couple of months ago, but only once every few days or so. But lately they've increased almost geometrically. Now, they're coming after about 5-10 minutes. They happen now even when I'm not online when the computer is idle with only my startup icons showing.

I'm writing this post from Joyce's Gateway laptop because I was afraid to start a post on the desktop.

My son has given me a couple of sound remedies (a C-Cleaner scan, and a Lavasoft scan) which did improve the computers speed, but the blue screens are still coming.

I could buy a new hard drive, but I'll probably just opt for a new desktop.

Why is it that unexpected expenses always come at the worst time? Is this just another manifestation of Murphy's Law: what can go wrong will go wrong?

Or maybe we need a new Law: the Christmas Wallet Corollary. You naturally have extra anticipated hits on your wallet at Christmas...you have those plus the CWC, those inevitable unexpected expenses which always occur when you need them the least..

1957 Ford Country Sedan: Our First Dependable Car

I've already written about my first car as a teenager, that 1948 Chevy as well as the Fiat Bianchina Joyce and I bought when we were first married and still in undergraduate school.

When I finished the course work for my M. A. in English at Peabody in Nashville in early January of 1963, I accepted a position to fill a mid academic year teaching vacancy at Southeastern Louisiana College in Hammond, Louisiana. I was due to report for work at the beginning of the spring semester, about the second week of January.

Using what were called federal "defense" loans in those days (paid back in full in the '70s) and some part time work by Joyce and myself, I had made it through college and the first year of graduate school by the skin of my financial teeth. Our funds were depleted and we were in debt. But we didn't care. Before I only had prospects, but now I had a real job in my chosen profession. The salary I would receive at Southeastern for one semester of full time teaching ($2400) sounds paltry by today's terms but to us it was a fortune.

Joyce and I knew we had to have a newer car to even get to the job. As a student, the bank wouldn't talk to me about a car loan, but as a graduate with a job they were more than happy to help me.

There were three of us by then--Barry was 1 year and five months old. We didn't have much in the way of material possessions but we had accumulated some "stuff" over our 2 1/2 years of marriage.

We were driving (sometimes pushing) a nine year old '54 Dodge Royal (formerly my parents') that by that time was smoking heavily and looked pretty beatup as a result of a rear end side swipe my Mom had experienced several years earlier. It frequently wouldn't start or would fail to complete the three mile trip from our apartment to Peabody; setting out to Louisiana in it was out of the question.

We needed a car that was big enough to load up our meager belongings and dependable enough to make the trip to Louisiana without difficulty. We found the perfect vehicle at Hippodrome Ford on Broad Street one gray, cold day in January. It was a yellow and cream four door, 1957 Ford Country Sedan. The picture below is not the actual car; I have pictures of it somewhere in our attic storage space which I've been promising to dig out for a couple of years now. but this one looked just like it.

The big wagon was already six years old but in really good shape. As for the engine, it was an OHV Ford V8. Wiki says,

The [1957] V8 lineup included a 272 CID (4.5 L) Y-block making 190 hp (142 kW), [and] a 292 CID (4.8 L) Thunderbird version making 212 hp (158 kW).

I'm not sure now after all these years, but I'm pretty sure ours was the base 6 passenger  model which had the 190 hp, two barrel carb version of the engine. Whatever it was, it would go pretty good for such a docile and practical looking vehicle.

We laid down the back seat and filled up all that storage space with pots, pans, Barry's baby bed, clothes, our small 17 inch white Motorola TV, more clothes, and linen; in short, everything we owned we carried in the back of that Ford wagon. The picture below shows a green interior, ours was brown. The picture shows the rear seat up, while we had it down flat to provide more space for our "stuff" when we made the trip. The picture also shows the space empty; when we made the trip to Louisiana, our wagon's space was completely full from top to bottom. I could only see the rear through my side mirrors.

Barry rode up front with us on the front seat. He had a little flimsy traveling bed that would change into a sitting position which he slept or sat in some, but most of the time he sat in Joyce's lap or stood (horrors) on the big bench seat between us.

The Ford did great on the trip which was pretty uneventful. About the only thing I remember is that we had our first Po Boy barbeque beef sandwich at some drive in restaurant in McComb, Mississippi. It was pretty danged good.

Our time in Louisiana was short and for awhile we had a rough time. It was my first teaching assignment and I was trying to learn the ropes. But much worse than that, Joyce had a miscarriage. She became anemic and took several weeks to recover. But we nade some good memories too. We learned the real meaning of Southern Hospitality. Colleagues, friends, even our landlord, went out of their way to help us during our troubles.

I was offered a full time job at Southeastern for the coming academic year at an annual salary of $4800, but I had been looking around for other possibilities. Eastern Kentucky offered me $5600 (an $800 raise) and after our difficulties, Kentucky sounded a little bit better to us than Louisiana.

During this time, the Ford served us well. It started every time and required nothing other than normal maintenance. It continued to serve us for another year in Kentucky until we traded it in on our first new car, a 1964 Dodge Coronet. But that's another story.

Here's one last look at that great old Country Sedan. Ford's slogan used to be, "There's a Ford in your future." There may be. But there is definitely one in our past. No wait. There are two in our past. This one and that 1971 Pinto. But that's another story too.

UPDATE: With his comment about a trip he remembers from his childhood, reader Buck reminded me of another part of our journey to Louisiana. Here's my response to his comment, complete with a Wiki link if you want to read a little more about the Natchez Trace Parkway (a most interesting roadway):

Buck, Thanks for helping fill out my memory of that trip a bit. As you point out, the roads 50 years ago were different, very different. I remember we drove to Columbia, TN and then made it over to the Natchez Trace Parkway. This is a two lane limited access road first begun under FDR that follows and commemorates the original trail used by early settlers in the South. The trail itself still remains visible at some points on the parkway; you can see the deep ruts of wagons from long ago. We took the Trace down to Jackson, MS, and then went further south toward Hammond on a blue highway, the number of which I can't remember now. But I do know it passed through McComb.  

The F-80 Shooting Star: an Adolescent Romance

In 1952, when I was about twelve, I began drawing things. I say "things" because that's what I soon discovered I could do best. People, animals, vegetation, etc. gave me problems and since there were no art teachers in my school (or in most others at that time I suppose) to help me overcome these difficulties, I stayed with what I could do pretty well. Things like buildings, houses, cars, and airplanes.

The drawing process was fun to me and I spent countless hours drawing at home and sometimes during class with my work hidden by an upright book. I especially enjoyed drawing the aircraft of WWII and the Korean War. One plane I drew many times was the Lockheed P or F-80 Shooting Star, the first operational jet fighter of the USAF. I liked the way the plane looked and I loved that name...Shooting Star.

Unfortunately, none of my drawings from that time, survive.

Although initial issues kept it out of WWII, the plane was designed, developed, and built by Lockheed in 1943 in just 143 days. The plane, though slower and less maneuverable than the Russian MIGs, did see lots of action in Korea.

I'm sure I saw pictures of the F-80 in magazines and newspapers at the time and those served as my inspiration.

The aircraft had a beautiful curving kind of fuselage with scoops on both sides for the Allison J33-A-35 engines. I always drew the plane with those wing tip fuel tanks which to my adolescent imagination gave it a more menacing look.

In the Korean conflict, the slower Shooting Star was eventually replaced by the faster swept wing F-86 Sabre. The website flugzeuginfo.net (a great source of aircraft data) says that a little over 1700 of the F-80s were produced. In the late '50s and all through the '60s the F-80 continued to serve in the air forces of several South American countries.

The plane was also modified as the T33 trainer aircraft and was used extensively to train American fighter pilots from the late '40s on through the '60s but other countries used it as late as the '80s. Wiki says the T33 was even employed by the Cuban Air Force in combat during the Bay of Pigs and scored several kills.

The Shooting Star is out of production today but it still lives on in my memory and imagination.

I'll Be the S.O.B.

Most of the time during my teaching career, I found it to be more effective in terms of getting students to participate or do the work at hand to be the "nice" guy. Later, when I became an administrator, I found it necessary at times to be the S. O. B.

Sometimes you are the role. Sometimes you play it. Regarding the S. O. B. role in my experience, I hope it was the latter.

Earlier this year, one of my favorite country stars released a new single, "You Don't Have to Love Me Anymore," penned by songwriters Jay Knowles and Adam Wright. IMO, it's one of Alan Jackson's best songs in quite some time.

The Knowles/Wright lyric is simple and unadorned, but emotionally, very powerful. Take this verse, for example:

I'll be the bad guy, I'll take the black eye, When I walk out, You can slam the door, I'll be the S.O.B, If that's what you need from me, So you don't have to love me anymore. 

I like Jackson's video of the song too.

Breakups, sacrifice, bitterness...the very life blood of country music.

"Crawlin' Kingsnake" and the Tennessee Drizzle

Yesterday was a travel day for us. The trip was pleasant until we reached that dreadful section of I-40 between Little Rock and Memphis. Somewhere around Carlisle, Arkansas, our progress came to a complete stop. The sun set behind us as we waited in darkness in an ever growing line of vehicles for over 30 minutes. 

Finally, the Arkansas Department of Transportation decided to let us move on and we made it to Memphis, which according to some, is the birthplace of the Blues. We tuned our Sirius to the appropriate channel and found the show "B. B. King's Bluesville" in progress.  

Besides the Blues, we encountered something else in Memphis--the famous Tennessee drizzle, which stayed with us all the way home. This drizzle or at least the Nashville variation of it was described early in the last century by the short story writer and embezzler O. Henry (William Sydney Porter):

Take a London fog 30 parts; malaria 10 parts; gas leaks 20 parts; dewdrops gathered in a brick yard at sunrise, 25 parts; odor of honeysuckle 15 parts. Mix.The mixture will give you an approximate conception of a Nashville drizzle. It is not so fragrant as a moth-ball nor as thick as pea-soup; but 'tis enough - 'twill serve.

I would leave out the honeysuckle part of O. Henry's description, and add this: The Tennessee drizzle is a type of concentrated, slanting rain consisting of tiny, needle like droplets of water. The "concentrated" idea is most important. If you were of a scientific mind and employed some sort of sophisticated electronic device attached to your windshield, I'm convinced after our experience last night that you would get a measure of no less than 7,000,000 droplets per square foot. 

Our Enclave's wipers were at times over-matched, but somehow we managed to get home around 11:30 PM. 

But even though the last third of our trip was bad from the weather perspective, it was a blast otherwise. 

A cold rain was falling outside, but Joyce and I enjoyed a hot rockin' Blues concert all the way to Nashville. We heard some great new stuff and lots of good old stuff like Etta James' "Crawlin' Kingsnake."

"Crawlin' Kingsnake" reminded me of something we used to talk about in Literature class, a figure of speech called a synecdoche. Here's an example: Gesturing to the shiny new Porsche Boxster, Bruce says, "Hey I like your cool new wheels, Dude." In the example, a part, "wheels," is used to signify the whole car. 

I'm going to be discreet here (I'm not sure why) and let you read some more about this figure of speech and then apply it to the song yourself. Or not. Your choice. Either way, you can enjoy the great blues voice of Etta James in a most memorable performance. 

Roger That

A short list of things before we head to TX tomorrow for Thanksgiving.

1. On Saturday, Vanderbilt beat the University of Tennessee for the first time at home since 1982. Joyce and I were a young 42 then. almost half a lifetime ago, but it seems like only yesterday. I've been following their sports teams since the '50s when I was in elementary school. My friend's father had the concession contract at football games at Dudley Field, and so one of my first jobs was selling hot dogs in the football stadium when I was in the 7th or eighth grade. And later, I got a couple of degrees from Peabody College which is now part of Vanderbilt. Vandy has always had a solid basketball program and the baseball program has really come on strong in the past few years. In the '50s they had some very good teams. But after that there hasn't been much to cheer about. It's the SEC and well, you know how tough the conference is. Vandy was almost always undermanned and overmatched. Until last year and this year. We're on the move baby.

2. The election is over, and my candidate lost, but I'm thankful for many things this Thanksgiving. Too many to list here at this hour since I have a long drive ahead of me tomorrow. But that sunset I looked at as I walked in the park this evening is one of them. The sky was blue with scattered white clouds except for a huge slab of silver gray clouds in the West that went about a fourth of the way up the dome, and right along the bottom of the slab, at the horizon, were a couple of big gashes of gold, tinged with a rose red. The light streaking out of those slits was absolutely brilliant. I'm thankful I got to see that.

3. I normally get between 100 and 150 hits per day on this old blog, most of them looking for how Lady Gaga could be related to the five most beautiful cars of the '50s. A couple of days ago, Saturday, however, I noticed I had received 597 hits. As I looked into it, they were all checking out a post I'd written two years ago about Ernest Tubb and the Nashville shooting incident. I'm not quite sure how to explain this. I got 25 more hits on that post today. What's going on?

4. Finally, I hope all of my regular readers and any other visitors who stumble by have a most happy Thanksgiving.

Seeya next week.

P.S. I'll be reading all my usual blogs but probably won't be commenting until I return.

Welfare Squirrels

I mentioned in an earlier post that I had started walking regularly again at the local park. Back in the late '70s and early '80s Joyce and I did a lot of running and walking there. In those days, the park had a walking trail that was covered with cinders which made a run very easy on the feet but not so good on your car's carpets afterward.

The trail was a 1.5 mile loop and the first .75 mile ran long through the trees beside a creek. There were wild squirrels everywhere. Most of the time they would scamper away as you ran by.

Nowdays, the park is even nicer. The walking trail is now a smooth asphalt band about 4-5 feet wide and although the old loop remains, a new part has been added that extends the loop to 2.25 miles.

We've noticed another significant change. The squirrels. They no longer scamper away in fear as you approach. They come toward you and stand upright with paws out in a begging position.

Over the years, more and more people used the walking trail to feed the squirrels. They would bring bags of peanuts to throw to the little bushy tailed critters. The squirrels soon learned not to be afraid. They also learned as the generations of squirrels came and went that they didn't have to work anymore to find food. Even in winter, people will walk along the trail and throw them nuts.

Yesterday, in the middle of my three mile walk, I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks. Beside the path a large tree had fallen into the creek and a squirrel stood up on top of the splintered stump, arms akimbo, looking down. He must have sensed me looking at him, so he raised his head and spoke to me.

"Hey you. Yeah, yeah, I'm mean you. Come over here and help me."

I stood there stupified. A talking squirrel?

"Hey, I'm talking to you, numbnuts. Get your ass over here and help me."

I walked over to the stump. The squirrel pointed down inside. "Look, he said. "When the tree broke apart this morning, I lost my roof. Everything's gonna be ruined if I don't get it moved to that other big tree over there."

I couldn't believe my eyes as I gazed down into the hollowed out stump. The squirrel's den resembled a plushly furnished man cave, complete with miniature hardwood floors, black leather recliners and sofas, two tiny refrigerators, and an expensive looking mini flatscreen TV.

"You live like a king," I said. "This is pretty danged cool."

"Thanks," he said. "I've got this squirrel chick I know who's an interior designer."

"But how do you afford it?"

He laughed and gave me a big toothy smile. "I'm cute. And the other squirrels say I have the midas touch when it comes to getting welfare nuts."

"Welfare nuts?"

"Yeah, that's what we all call them now. We're victims of urbanization. When the park came along it changed and damaged our way of life. We needed help and we got it. Help we can depend on, year after year. We can still work, but we don't have to now. The humans feel guilty and so they give us food if we're cute enough, or if we...Hey, I can look sad too."

He demonstrated by putting this "poor me" pouting expression on his face, spinning around, and then falling on his back with his little legs extended. He looked like he was dying or would die soon. I don't much like squirrels, or tree rats as some call them, but if I'd had a nut I would have given it to him. He was that good.

I turned and started to walk away.

"Hey, where you going? I need help here," he said.

"Sorry," I said. "You won't get any handouts or help from me. My advice is to get back to work again. Your real nature is too work hard and save up food for the winter, not lounge around and depend on human kindness."

"Look, I got a lotta friends here," he said. "Sometimes we get real hungry and band together in a group to attack an old slow walker like you. A little shin meat can be mighty tasty."

"Are you threatening me" I asked.

"Just stating a fact," he said.

"Ok, here's another fact for you. I got plenty of your kind around my house. They're not freeloaders like you; they make it on their own. But sometimes when they get too frisky and start running all over my roof and eating at my dormers or deck rails, I have to get out my Mossberg."

His eyes opened wide and he jumped off the stump and disappeared into the brush.

As I continued my walk, I noticed the squirrels up ahead scampering out of my way just like they did in the good old days.

When Things Fall to Pieces

Recent events in the news almost sound like one of those old country music songs. There's the David, Paula, Jill, and Holly "square" (as opposed to triangle). And now the possible John and Jill connection with the shirtless FBI agent caveat. Here's a little blogdrama about the mess with some musical help from Carl Smith and George Jones. 

The place was a dive near an army base and was called the All In. The neon beer signs provided most of the light and the floor was littered with peanut shells. It was late, and the place was almost empty. One guy was shirtless and sat alone in a booth at the back, drinking beer and taking photos of himself with his phone.

Another lone man sat at the bar drinking shots.

The man at the bar was an ex Army General who recently had also become an ex-big time government official, and he felt his life was falling apart around him. He'd been forced to resign his high position because of an affair. He put some coins in the juke box and ordered another shot.

As the song ended, another Army General entered. He looked like he'd been sleeping in his wrinkled uniform and his eyes were wild with worry. His command position was in jeopardy and he didn't know what to do. He too sat down at the bar.

The first general looked at him. "You too, John?" he said.

"Shit," said the general who'd just come in. "It's all your damn fault. You and that hussie you hooked up with." He put some coins in the jukebox and sat down.

The shirtless man at the booth in the back wiped a tear from his eye. He looked at a photo of the woman on his phone. He'd been removed from his assignment because of her and he just couldn't get her off his mind. He ordered a beer and put some coins in the jukebox.

When an affair (main street, back street or under the desk) crumbles, when somebody falls on hard times, or when a guy gets stuck on the unattainable, you can always find an old country song to echo the misery. Country music has already "been there, done that, and bought the tee shirt."

Thank You for Your Service

Today is Veterans Day, the day the nation has set aside to honor those who served in the military, the countless men and women who have protected our way of life and our freedom since Revolutionary war times.

I picked out a few of the great Veterans Day posters that I like in order to honor our veterans and to thank them for their service. And a special "thanks for your service" to those I know personally who served: my son (Air Force), my brother (Army), my grandson (Navy), my classmates, my colleagues, my students, my friends over the years, and my friends in the blogosphere. I salute you all.

I like all of these posters, but, counting down from the top, I think I like #4 below the best. What's your favorite?

Two Reasons Why Republicans Lost

As expected, the pundits are out, slicing and dicing and pointing fingers.

Some say Romney's loss was because conservatives don't appeal to blacks and Hispanics. Some say we don't appeal to the young. Some say we should moderate and move the party more to the center. Others say we shouldn't moderate at all, just go full bore conservative. Some say it was all Romney's fault.

And there are many others. All on the first day after the election.

They probably all have a little bit of the truth.

Here's my take. I think were two reasons why we lost, the long running Progressive Pop Culture Complex, and Romney's "niceness."

First, I say we lost and will continue to lose because of the popular culture. Let's face it. The Progressives OWN the popular culture. What they've created is a dangerous monstrosity I've started calling the Progressive Pop Culture Complex (the PPCC). In his 1961 farewell address, Eisenhower warned against the unchecked powers of the "Military Industrial Complex." Today, we have to fear the PPCC, a dangerous mix of politicians, entertainers/artists, producers, and media people.

Sure, there are some conservative actors around. But the huge majority of movies, performers, producers, cinematographers, agents, agencies, studios, TV people, TV shows, artists, musicians, you name it, are "progressive" or liberal.


When I say "own," I mean that literally. They own the movie studios, the TV studios, the networks, the newspapers, the newsrooms. They pay the directors, the producers, the actors. They own the art and thus control/influence the artists and media people. They've used their money and the influence it creates for the past three or four decades to slowly change the country, change its values, change its direction, change its politics.

And how have Conservatives been portrayed? All of us are heartless and rich fat cats, ignorant unsophisticated rednecks, war mongers, and bigoted zombie racists. Progressives, who are responsible for developing the concept of "hate speech," feel free to use it against conservatives.

And don't look to journalists or the news media to investigate the PPCC or to defend conservatives or their ideas. The "news" media, once a proud bastion of free speech and journalistic integrity, is now a full voting member of the PPCC.

Secondly, Romney took the high road. He accepted the idea that Obama is a good guy. He refused to use any kind of attack that would label Obama as a socialist, he never made any use of the fact that Obama's administration was filled with questionable people (Van Jones, et al), and in the end, didn't really pursue the Benghazi issue after Obama's indignant response in the debate.

Romney ran an above board campaign that centered on Obama's performance on the economy. Obama and his team, in this race and in all the others he's run, have been willing to do what was necessary to win.  And say what you will, David Axelrod, Obama's campaign guy, can do the down and dirty. Remember Obama's campaign for senate? Remember those ads that implied Romney caused a woman to get cancer? Remember.... Well, you get the picture.

What the Republicans need is a new Lee Atwater type, Bush I's campaign guy and later head of the RNC. Atwater was a guy who did the down and dirty as well as anybody. He could be nasty as hell, just ask Michael Dukakis.

That's Atwater on the right with his pal Bush I. Looks like he's got his game face on, no? What about Karl Rove, you're probably gonna say? Sorry, but IMHO Rove has lost his mojo. He was wrong about a lot of stuff this year, plus he's a bit tainted by his association with Bush. We need a new guy, someone who knows how to expertly use that big tar brush. Someone who knows how to wield an axe. A pole axe at that. Someone to match the Dem's own Axe...lrod.

So, my remedy for the GOP is one of those two layer prescription tablets the doc gives you for some ailment. The first layer, the red "Atwater" layer, is quick acting and will provide short term relief. The second white layer with red and blue speckles, is a time release compound and involves wealthy GOP people buying into and/or creating their own popular culture propaganda factories and attracting more and more artists/entertainers to GOP ideas.

I'll end by reminding you that Lee Atwater combined both approaches--a professional ability to do the dirty, plus he was himself an entertainer. In case you've forgotten, Atwater was an accomplished blues guitarist and actually was a member of several successful bands. And these weren't just amateur wannabe groups. He played for Percy Sledge and B.B. King among others. 

What follows is a video from an album, Red, Hot, and Blue that features his guitar work along with the work of many other rhythm and blues artists of the '80s.