Bobby started making music when I was
twelve so I suppose he would have been thirteen or fourteen years old. He had all the charisma and confidence and
creativity even then. More than he would
ever need. But maybe I shouldn’t say it
that way. The truth is he had the
charisma, confidence and creativity he would very much need, gifts I guess,
which would be there to save him.
Authenticity
is a word most people use. They
sometimes shake their heads simultaneously in a kind of disbelief. Bobby’s got that rarest combination of
authenticity. The experiences go far
beyond the usual. The wisdom goes even
further. And he’s got the voice to drive
it really home.
His first
record goes back a few years to a single evening on a porch out in Stony Point
Virginia. You can hear the
crickets. You can hear the high
water. It’s just Bobby playing on the
porch, singing to the night while his friend is running the old reel to reel
four-track recorder. And it’s how I love
to hear his music best. Unadorned. Shimmering in the night.
And you’d
think since I play drums in the band that I might prefer the full arrangement,
the great Holy Bear. But I’m just
keeping time the way the second hand keeps time, records by seconds - while
Bobby takes his own stand and creates moments, full and lasting and poignant.
Time is just a swift current with no choice but to bend around him and
accommodate something rare.
So in all these years since we were teenage boys, I’ve been listening and learning and keeping time to the music he creates, shaking my head in wonder and disbelief. It’s authentic. And amazing. He’s had a full life of experience, given the gifts early on that would save him and somehow we all stand right here where we have the chance to join right in and share.
-Phillip St. Ours
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