You know, I am so full of shit. Looking back to 1975, living in Tucson, Arizona, I actually fancied myself to be quite the country boy. Born in South Central L.A, the HEART of country. But now I was country. Had an old Ford pickup truck (even called it a pick-‘em-up truck), a leather-sheathed Buck knife strapped to my thigh, a Caterpillar (CAT) hat, Levi’s (of course), and an Arizona Grain and Feed T-shirt. My oversized belt buckle completed mt getup. All this atop my scuffed up brown Justin boots. I was hell-on-earth on Friday and Saturday nights. Being a Mexican who could talk shit put me in harm’s way more than often. The country girls liked me because I could engage them on both a sexual AND intellectual level. Hell, I even learned how to do the Texas two-step! Of course I switched to my Stetson and Tony Llamas for the weekends. If I didn’t get in a fight, or go home with someone else’s date, it was a boring night. The best nights were when both occurred. My solo songlist changed dramatically, to say the least. I went from the Stones and all the British bands, to Charley Pride, Mel Tillis, and Conway Twitty. My band changed from The Southside Rockers to Duck Soup. We were Country Commandos playing in country bars, and when I went to an Outlaws concert, it sealed the deal. I was hooked. Willie and Waylon albums played all day long on my Pioneer setup. My cowboy faze ended when I left Tucson for the lights of Las Vegas and my chef career started.
I still love country music to this day and continue to write and record country songs. Years ago, I even received some interest for one of my songs from the head of Nashville’s A&M records’ A&R department. It is a love song I wrote about my wife, but for some reason she doesn’t see it that way. The name of the song is I Wouldn’t Trade You (Freddy Krueger’s Nightmare). I am still figuring out how to include links to some of my music on this blog. When I do, I will def post a link. Even though I was born a rocker at heart, I still marvel at the voices of those truly blessed: Barbra Streisand, Aretha Franklin, Patti LaBelle, Sinatra, Steve Perry, and Freddy Mercury (again, my faves). As a matter of fact, I have Vince Gill’s Let There Be Christmas album on as I type this (Bruce Springsteen up next). So Mamas DO Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys. How boring this world would be without them …
Stay Well.
Mark's Playhouse 