Ya see, our boy had just come off of a ten year bender playing carnivale music with a bunch of mad calypsonians. His chops were shot, his nerves were raw, and he was at the end of his musical rope. It wasn’t just any old resonator guitar, it was a National. A Radiotone. One of three in the whole wide world made with a Style O neck. Old Frank behind the counter (not to be confused with Johnny Behind the Deuce) muttered, ”Hey Mudbone, There’s a real fine Git-tar down in back, She ain’t cheap though. P Jack had seen a lot of real fine guitars in his day, but not like this. In fact, when he picked it up, he thought for a second that he saw an eyeball behind the coverplate, and it was winkin’ at him. From the moment hand met strings, P. Jack knew that no price was too much. First, he started playing, then he started stompin’ then he started to feel a deep sense of loss and longing. For the first time in years, he began to wonder where his Brother Beau was, what he was doing, and how to convince him to start up playing music where they had left off, all those years ago.

More to come soon...