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Born in a woodpile on a
cold December morning,
 Hank Ferguson quickly learnt the rhythms of the
wild; or
is that wild rhythms? The steady hollow sound of the woodsman’s axe
echoing through the trees was punctuated by the occasional triplet of
the woodpecker, along with odd growl of the bear or possum. Also added
were the tales and lyrics of old, passed down. But as Hank grew, it
became clear that there was not enough work to go around for a poor
woodsman. |
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So, the family decided to pack up
and emigrate. The sounds of the big city clashed and clanged in Hank’s
ears and a yearning
increased for the familiar forest, woods, streams. Yet, now somehow
they
mixed and mingled in his mind with the mechanical engine’s roar and the
streetcar’s rumble. The hammering, rumbling, pecking, rustling wind and
train’s clatter were the stomping bull-fiddle, brush on skin, rhythmic
arch top, sliding
steel and picking guitar; melding hills and smoke into a musical
mindscape,
both rockin’ and hillbilly.
Later, as Hank learned the mystery of letters in white and black, the mindscape took on pronounceable names; Jimmy Rogers, Woody Guthrie, J. E. Mainer, Hank Williams, Lefty Frizell, Hank Snow, Webb Pierce, Hank Garland, Speedy West, Jimmy Bryant, Tommy Collins, Hank Thompson, Blackenship Brothers, Farmer Boys, Maddox Brothers and Rose, Carson Robinson and Tommy Duncan… but it would take all the ink in Christendom to print all the names worth printing, for the chorus of angels grows day by day. Suffice it to say, there was enough inspiration came this boy’s way.
Given a fiddle at a tender
age, Hank squealed, screeched and scratched until he learned to play,
though a guitar found his hands more apt and the chords were better
accompaniment to the songs he hatched. And of course there were others
in the same predicament, so he joined many combos and they played to
their hearts’ content.
Now, again he moved, but in a different way – to a beat and a sentiment played in the home folk’s style; while the music took him to different haunts, where juvenile eyes don’t often see. Far and wide, even to different countries, the essential hills and smoke still guided him, but money concerns often reared their ugly head.
So, now, Hank has returned again to where he began; the life, the fun, the sounds where it started from. Let’s not procrastinate, nor waste more words… s’time to play some more!
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