Me at the San Diego County Fair one day in 2003. Near the flower exhibition. Just down the walkway from sellers of fried sugared bread, giant BBQ'd turkey legs. Just outside the exhibition hall full of jacuzzis pimped out with more LEDs and thumping stereo than a bad ghettocruiser.
I may have had a stuffed artichoke in my hands. Really can't remember.
And then I heard this music.
This incredible music.
This swirling technicolor did-somebody-just-slip-something-psychoactive-in-my-giant-Diet-Coke music. And I stopped cold in my tracks, whipping my head around to see where it was coming from.
One guy. One wierd-ass looking instrument. (No drummer that day. All alone.)
The Man-At-The-Time and I drifted toward the stage in a bit of a trance, sat down. I was transported for the next hour. Bliss. I bought a copy of every CD he had for sale that afternoon. I've picked up more as they've emerged (favorite so far is A Whisper In Thunder) and right now I'm all tappyfingered, waiting for more.
I hope you'll agree that the word "talented" is a miserable and inadequate descriptor.
I want to know why Tom Griesgraber is not stupendlously famous. (Jamie Lynn Fucking Spears is famous, people....where's the justice?)
I want to know why he isn't selling hundreds of thousands--screw that, millions-- of CDs.
I want to know why he isn't bathing in Benjamins.
So today, as I'm sitting here feeling distinctly un-writer-y, I thought I'd share a different kind of original art with my OS pals who have great taste and have probably never had the pleasure of hearing him play.
And who've maybe never seen a Chapman Stick.
Hope you'll enjoy the work of a capital-V virtuoso.