Billy Bob on drums. We played “Can’t You See,” so I suggested we do that one, as well as one of my older original songs, the highly op- timistic and happy song, “Smell All the Roses.” We went over the songs a couple of times, and then it was dinner time. Alan and Debra always provide a nice
catered meal for the band and tonight it was good ol’ barbecue with all the fixins. Good stuff. After eating a bite, we made our way to the stage. I sat side stage watching the Wood Pickers get an amazing re- sponse from the audience. The guys were outstanding. Pretty soon it was time for me to join them onstage and do “Smell All the Roses” and then “Can’t You See.” It was a blast playing
Bud Thornton of The Boxmasters (Michael Buffalo Smith Photo)
with such good musicians, and the audience was more than kind. The Boxmasters rocked it out in style as
always (see review this issue). Bud Thornton and the boys were red hot. At the end of the show I was invited to come out and join the band for their encore of “Sylvia’s Mother” and “That Mountain.” Talk about fun. It had been an evening for the books with more than a few thrills for me as a musician and writer. Thanks guys! Scott and I returned to LaQuinta and
crashed, and the next morning Mr. Greene put the vehicle in the wind toward Macon, Georgia. Before you could say “Gregg All- man,” we were driving up to John Griffin’s Air bnb. It’s a lovely home out in the country called Ridgecrest Retreat. Absolutely beauti-
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ful, with a nice deck and great, peaceful vibes, surrounded by creeks and forest. It’s listed on Air BnB, and I highly recommend the place to visitors to Macon. After visiting with John for a bit, we
piled into Scott’s car to drive over to The Big House. Coming in, I had no idea whatsoever that Jack Pearson was playing an intimate acoustic show that very evening. When we ar- rived, it was like a family reunion. I was shak- ing hands and speaking with so many old friends, I am sure my face had a perpetual grin splashed across it. We spoke to the Big House honcho, Richard Brent; GABBA guy Greg Holt; Capricorn folks Jim Hawkins and Paul Hornsby; Kirk West; Lisa Watkins Meyer; and of course, the man of the hour, the great Jack Pearson. I hadn’t seen Jackie in years, and it was a pleasure, as was his acoustic performance. Seated in the living room of the Big House surrounded by 30 or so attentive listeners, he entertained and amazed, performing some very beautiful and complicated tunes. Someone remarked, “You make it look east” to which Jack replied, “But it ain’t!” Getting laughs from the crowd. One of my favorite songs he did was his own solo arrangement of Dickey Betts’ “Blue Sky,” a song that has been in my Top Five for most of my life. Jack was as amazing as ever. After the show, Scott, John and I made
our way to a popular local restaurant and bar called Jim Shaw’s. The place has a great repu- tation, and I was hankering for oysters. I or- dered some, as I was thrilled to find a place that sold them. It seemed like several years since I’d had any, usually having to go to the Carolina coast to find them. In my mind, I was thinking oysters on the half shell. What I had actually ordered was steamed oysters. Big clusters of shells that you have to open with an oyster knife. Very messy, but usually worth it, but not tonight. In a fluke incident, Shaw’s had gotten in a load of oysters that had the tiniest amount of meat I’d ever seen. Every
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