Guy Clark died today, at his home in Texas, at the age of 74. Simply enough stated, and definitely sad enough. Another one gone. This has been a tough year for music fans. No need to list all who have passed on, but his one is hard for me. I am going to miss Guy Clark.
That didn't really sink in until my daughter, Molly, wrote to me, "Sorry you lost one of your guys." It was then that I realized that not many days go by that I don't sing a line of his, or think of something I heard him say - to me- on the few, precious times that I saw him perform live. He was one of my guys.
"Texas singer / songwriter". No, he was not just a singer songwriter. The words to his songs, they weren't "lyrics", too high falootin' a term for Guy, were genuine and honest and very straight forward. Silly at times, his "Homegrown Tomatoes" and "Picasso's Mandolin" are downright infectious in their simplicity. "Desperadoes Waiting for a Train" is so sad it drips. "LA Freeway" is disdainful and gorgeous, and "I Don't Love You Much Do I" is one of the best love songs I have ever heard.
I might be wrong about this, but the treatment he gave his songs never included an electric guitar, long a staple of Texas music. Instead, he and his musical partner Verlon Thompson laid down undeniable acoustic guitar grooves, and the songs did not suffer the absence of the Tele. Vocal harmonies that were the envy of the trade were tastefully scattered around the verses.
A few years ago at Hardly Strictly, he told me…me, a story about an crotchety old man who made his own bullets. I am sure that Guy Clark did not make his own bullets, but he was his own man. He was a "hero of our Country", and I loved him. Always will.
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