weld 1 [weld]
- verb (used with object)
1. to unite or fuse (as pieces of metal) by hammering, compressing, or the like, esp. after rendering soft or pasty by heat, and sometimes with the addition of fusible material like or unlike the pieces to be united.
I’m not a welder, at least not in the typical sense of the trade. But my daddy is, by way of the 2300 hours of training that certified him, courtesy of the Atlanta Federal penitentiary.
I myself couldn’t put a rod in the thingamajig. And heavy equipment makes me nervous. But I do tend to fuse things, confuse things, sometimes with sparks, sometimes like a lava melt, sometimes backed by a tank of compressed air ready to blow, sometimes quiet as a slow leak.
The beauty of writing, recording, gigging and the like, to me is, when it’s right, it comes together with a glow in my soul, so intense it pierces a hot afternoon like a hissing firecracker. “Don’t look at it directly…it’ll burn your eyes!” mama used to yell. I stood bare footed hanging on the inside of the screen door of our Florida patio. I loved watching Cook’s Welding at work in our tiny dirt yard. It was so hard not to look. Couldn’t help but look. And the rawness of my new album “Welder” is case and point. Apparently, I still can’t help but look.
One day, daddy happed up on the fortuitous idea of putting his welder on the back of his truck making him, in effect, a “mobile” welding unit. He was the only one in the central Florida region, the part of Florida that was then chock full of tomato, cantaloupe, strawberry and watermelon fields. Turned out this stroke of temporary genius made our little family a bustling business due to the fundamental battle between man and nature - the blistering Florida sun vs. the lifeline of irrigation pipes. A farmer could lose a crop in an afternoon in that heat, less Cook’s Welding could save the day. Eventually, Daddy also built many cattle guards and gates for the wealthy horse ranchers of Marion County. All the city of Wildwood’s industrial green dumpsters were custom-made right there in our front yard. Melting, hammering, and painting away…
I’ll never forget going home to Florida for a class reunion and because of poor timing, having to receive my first major label recording contract via fax none other than the Wildwood Ace Hardware. It was bizarre. The man behind the counter looked down his glasses at me. All he had to say was “You tell your daddy we ain’t had a welder to beat him since he left.” I can only hope to get that good. Thankfully, my chances are still coming.
In the way my career has come together to this point in unforeseen ways a la satellite radio shows, the Grand Ole Opry, great places to play and people to play with, accomplishments in songwriting, my team of tigers, this kind of mish mash continues. I know the story melts and bends.
Once he quit drinking, daddy used the overflow of our economy to fund the beginnings of my music career…bought yards of fringe for cowgirl suits, red boots from The Loretta Lynn gift shop in Nashville, and a public announcement system, a Peavey mic and two speakers from a music store in Orlando. One time he tried to bribe the house band at Nashville’s Opryland amusement park to let me up on stage to sing a song by flashing a cool twenty. He scuffled away in his white dress shoes. Today I’m humbly state I’ve logged over 300 appearances on the Opry’s sacred stage…that’s up the sidewalk, in the big house.
Mama certainly did her part writing songs, teaching me words on posterboard, and rolling my hair. A lot has changed.
For my fifth all grown up studio album, I am enjoying the challenge and journey and how welding continues to shape my life. This album was really tough to make in some ways and really easy in others. It was a cool breeze and a real high to record with Don Was. He let me out of jail. So I bought him a nice key chain.
The pickers, both friends and pros, united to record at last. We all hung out and worked oblivious to the red light pressure. I barely noticed the days of rain while we recorded. Just a week long party with nice carpet and lots of twinkly lights, wires and knobs, a stocked fridge, love and luck all around me, and one really good coffee pot. I focused and struck like lightning.
From a material standpoint, I’ve never had more to write about…didn’t have to dig too deep at all. For instance, I never thought I’d be singing about my Mama’s funeral. Just never thought that I would write, much less sing, about that. But here it is on Welder…alongside tales of the harshness and delicacies of both romantic and familial love (Not California, Heroin Addict Sister, Girlfriend Tonite), occasionally indulging in the rush of being inappropriate (El Camino, Snake In The Bed, Yes To Booty). But this is the kind of hand the three years since the release of the Balls album has dealt me. Welder is my stab at bringing it all together. It’s just the truth.
As an artist, I’m grateful for experiences that have grown me up a little bit, even if it hurts like hell. And even though I didn’t really want to, the fact that I “couldn’t help but look” is what it’s all about. It’s my damnation and my salvation. And it’s my job.
I hope the musical journey on Welder brings the condolences of a little shared understanding, through commiserating about life, in laughter and in tears, for the old fans, the newly added, and the all around music lovers, to whom I’m so grateful, each and every one. Thanks for daring to look. |
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January 2011
Territories: UK and Ireland
Format: duo
Looking for dates: Please enquire for availability |
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