There’s a guy I know named Maxfield Martin. Just met him. He’s in his 80s. Plays the guitar. But not just any guitar, the steel guitar. You know, the kind that sits on a stand horizontally across the lap. A steel slide in the left hand, picking the strings with the right.
Anybody remember Roscoe Swerps? That’s what he played way back when. Sad country songs.
But not Maxfield Martin. Man, that guy can play. I mean, yeah, he can make that guitar cry, but he can flat-out tear it up with screaming foot-stomping rockabilly phosphorescent bluegrass.
Maxfield Martin told me a story.
I’ll share it with you some day soon.